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THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF 

A    WOMAN    ALONE 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

A  WOMAN  ALONE 


NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1911 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

Copyric^t,  1910,  by  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 


Published  September,  1911  % 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


^^I 


THIS  BOOK  IS  NOT  A  NOVEL,  BUT  A 
RECORD  OF  THE  ACTUAL  EXPERIENCES 
OF   THE    WOMAN    WHO    IS   THE    NARRATOR 


2135S96   ' 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— Bereft 1 

II.— The  Break  WITH  Grandfather    .       .       .       .  4 

in.  —Pawning  My  Mother's  Watch     ....  9 

rv.  — Setting  Out  for  College 12 

v.— The  President  Befriends  Me      ....  15 

VI. — First  News  of  My  Sister 20 

VII. — Philip  AND  Alison 25 

VIII.— One  Co-Ed's  Ordeal 30 

DC. — Undergraduate  Milestones        ....  37 

X.— Where  To  Go?       .               40 

XI. — My  First  Day  In  New  York        ....  44 

XII. — "Woman  Suffrage"— And  A  Job         ...  56 

XIII. — Mrs.  Grey  Sends  Me  to  Bay  Side       ...  60 

XIV. — Enter  the  Forsythes 66 

XV. — A  Sunday  Morning  Chat 71 

XVI. — ^The  Challenge 75 

XVII. — "Playing  the  Game"— The  Handicap        .       .  79 

XVIII.— Flight 83 

XIX.— In  New  York  Again 88 

XX.— Pursuit 94 

XXI.— The  Mother's  Attitude 99 

XXII.— Rae  Dillaben 104 

XXIII.— Eastertide    .       . 109 

XXrV.—"  By  Special  Delivery" 113 

XXV.— At  Albany 116 

XXVI.— Increasing  Weight  of  Isolation.       ...  125 

XXVII. — Mrs.  Miggs's  Boarding  House     ....  132 

XXVIII.— Theodore  Prime 147 

XXIX.  ^A  Midsummer  Saturday 156 

vii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


XXX.— The  Drunkard's  Warning        ....  166 

XXXI.— Death  of  Mrs.  Grey— My  Life  Downtown     .  169 

XXXII.— Dr.  Post  Advises  Change         ....  176 

XXXIII.— Asking  Mr.  Vilmerding  for  Work  ...  179 

XXXrV.— An  Unexpected  Trip 184 

XXXV.  —Mr.  Vilmerding  Misunderstands    ...  188 

XXXVI.— The  Ultimatum 197 

XXXVII.— Mrs.  Tate  Co-operates 200 

XXXVIII.— "The  House  OF  God" 203 

XXXIX.— Alison's  Knowledge   of   Our     Relationship 

Revealed  to  Me 209 

XL.— I  Write  My  Sister— Her  Reply        ...  213 

XLI.— The  Depths  of  Loneliness        ....  218 

XLIL —The  "  Personal  Column" 223 

XLIIL— Mrs.  Wells  Assists 239 

XLIV.— The  Answers  "Margaret"  Received      .        .  252 

XLV.— "William  B.  Ellery,  General  Delivery"       .  260 

XLVL— A  Sunday  IN  Central  Park       ....  268 

XL VII. — A  Visit  to  the  Columbia  Library     .        .        .  273 

XLVIIL— "Next  Time  I'LL  Tell  Him"     ....  279 

XLIX.— "A  Man  THAT  Had  Lied  to  Me!"     ...  282 

L.— Jim 286 

LL— Drifting 296 

LIL— "You've  Got  TO  Marry  Me"    ....  302 

LIIL — "Damn  THAT  Meddlesome  Old  Maid"     .        .  307 

LIV.  —Seeking  Another  Home 318 

LV.— Making  Up  My  Mind 322 

LVI.— New  Year's  Eve 328 

LVIL  — The  ' '  Trial  Marriage  ' ' —Disillusionized        .  333 

LVIII.— On  the  Defensive 342 

LIX.— Re-enter  the  ForsYthes 345 

LX.— "Drunk  As  A  Lord" 351 

LXI.— "I  Won't  Give  You  Up" 357 

LXII.  —Awheel  and  On  Foot 361 

LXIIL— Jim's  Death— Paul's  Offer       ....  368 

LXrV. — Conclusion 373 

viii 


THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF 
A    WOMAN    ALONE 


CHAPTER  I 
BEREFT 


MY  father  died  when  I  was  five  years  old,  and  when 
the  sister,  whom  I  shall  call  Alison,  was  two. 
Mother,  always  in  poor  health,  was  left  with 
very  little  means.  In  the  adjoining  village  lived  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Coles,  a  childless  couple,  who  were  first  cousins  as 
well  as  man  and  wife.  Before  her  marriage,  my  mother 
had  taught  school  in  that  village,  and  boarded  in  their 
home.  Hearing  now  of  her  bereavement,  they  came  to 
see  her.  They  saw  her  children,  too,  and  Alison's  beauty 
and  winsomeness  made  conquest  at  first  sight.  After  that, 
Mrs,  Coles  visited  us  often,  to  ease  her  hunger  for  the 
child.  But  the  hunger  was  not  eased  that  way.  It  only 
grew  the  more. 

Finally,  she  begged  that  she  might  take  the  baby  home 
with  her — "at  le^st  for  a  visit,"  she  pleaded,  picturing 
to  my  mother  the  loneliness  of  herself  and  Dr,  Coles. 
"And  you  have  been  blessed  with  two  little  ones,"  she 
said.  Later  on,  she  tactfully  referred  to  my  mother's 
straitened  circumstances  and  poor  health  as  heavy 
handicaps  in  the  upbringing  even  of  one  child.  How, 
then,  could  she  provide  for  two  ?  Even  so,  would  she  be 
doing  right  to  deprive  the  baby  of  the  greater  advantages 

1 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

which  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Coles  could  give?  "Alison  is  an 
unusual  child,"  she  urged.  "She  deserves  unusual 
opportunities.  With  us  she  would  have  the  best  of 
evenrthing. " 

The  starved  maternal  love  of  the  physician's  wife 
taught  her  what  to  say — what,  too,  to  leave  unsaid. 
There  were  long  pauses,  and  both  women  wept.  On  the 
floor  beside  them,  the  children  played  with  the  new  toys 
Mrs.  Coles  had  brought.  Suddenly  the  baby,  exploring 
the  mysteries  of  a  train  of  cars,  hurt  her  finger  and 
cried  lustily.  Mrs.  Coles  sprang  forward,  caught  her  in 
her  arms,  and,  crooning  comfort,  kissed  the  place  to 
make  it  well.  Then,  with  the  child  clinging  to  her,  she 
turned  to  my  mother. 

"I  couldn't  love  her  better  if  she  were  my  very  own. 
Mayn't  I  have  her?"  she  implored.     "Mayn't  I?" 

Alison,  frightened  by  the  seriousness  in  the  voice 
which  but  just  now  was  murmuring  caresses,  wound 
her  arms  the  tighter  round  the  woman's  neck.  "Mamma 
— mamma — mamma, ' '  she  cried, 

Mrs.  Coles  in  solemn  triumph  looked  at  my  mother. 
"The  baby  herself  has  spoken,  dear  friend.  Let  her 
decision  stand. ' ' 

But  my  mother  only  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know. 
I  can  see  but  one  step  at  a  time.  You  may  take  her  home 
with  you  to-day  for  a  visit — a  visit — if  you  wish. ' ' 

Scarcely  was  that  visit  entered  on,  when  another 
change  occurred.  My  mother's  state  of  health,  never 
satisfactory  at  best,  became  so  alarming  that,  with  the 
older  child,  she  withdrew  to  her  father's  home,  a  hundred 
miles  away.  This,  too,  was  called  a  visit,  and  at  her 
departure  she  spoke  of  returning  '  *  in  the  spring' ' ;  but 
neighbors,  who  ran  in  to  bid  her  godspeed  on  the  journey, 
have  told  me  that  she  looked  like  death  that  day,  and  not 
one  of  them  expected  to  see  her  there  again. 

Mrs.  Coles  wrote  frequently,  and  her  letters  glowed 
with  accounts  of  Alison.     The  baby's  rosiness  was  por- 

2 


BEREFT 

trayed  and  her  cute  sayings  were  recorded  faithfully, 
while,  in  itemizing  her  raiment  and  the  playthings  in 
her  nursery,  Mrs.  Coles's  communications  rivaled  the 
completeness  of  a  catalogue.  In  addition,  my  mother's 
correspondent  dwelt  on  the  joyous  transformation  wrought 
for  herself  and  Dr.  Coles  by  the  presence  of  "the  wee 
one" — as  she  always  called  her — in  their  home,  and  on 
accounts  of  the  baby's  happiness  in  her  new  environ- 
ment. "She  has  never  cried  once,"  was  the  invariable 
report. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  letters  changed  to  bulletins. 
Alison  was  ill  with  membranous  croup.  For  my  mother 
to  go  to  her  was  impossible — she  was  herself  prostrated 
by  disease.  Even  had  it  been  otherwise,  Mrs.  Coles  de- 
clared that  her  coming  could  be  of  no  avail.  Everything 
was  being  done  that  professional  skill  could  do,  rein- 
forced by  love.  Dr.  Coles — a  physician  held  in  high 
repute  throughout  the  countryside — had  given  his  other 
patients  into  the  care  of  his  colleague  in  order  to  devote 
himself  entirely  to  the  case  in  his  own  home,  two  trained 
nurses  were  in  attendance,  and  Mrs.  Coles  herself,  she 
wrote,  never  left  the  baby  day  or  night. 

When  the  crisis  passed,  my  mother  was  given  to 
understand  that,  humanly  speaking,  it  was  owing  only  to 
this  care  that  the  little  life  was  saved.  Friends  of  the 
Coleses,  who  also  knew  my  mother,  wrote  that  Alison's 
case  was  said  to  be  one  of  the  most  serious  on  record,  and 
that  her  recovery  was  everywhere  considered  to  be  little 
short  of  miraculous.  Then  my  mother  felt  that,  in  any 
event,  the  child  belonged  less  to  her  than  to  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Coles.  This  was  in  February.  In  March,  they 
legally  adopted  her.     In  May,  my  mother  died. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  BREAK  WITH  GRANDFATHER 

THEN  I  entered  on  dark  days.  Too  young  to  realize 
the  deeper  meaning  of  my  loss,  I  still  missed  my 
mother  grievously — missed  the  creature  comforts 
her  hand  had  prepared,  and  the  careful  undoing  of  the 
tangles  in  the  mass  of  curls  through  which  a  great- 
aunt's  comb  now  dragged  itself  relentlessly — missed  the 
tucking  into  bed  of  nights,  and  the  daily  companionship 
of  her  who  even  till  the  last  was  never  too  weary  to  lis- 
ten to  the  prattle  of  a  chatterbox.  Grandfather  was  an 
austere  man,  and  the  spinster  sister  who  presided  over 
his  household  shared  his  belief  that  children  should  be 
seen,  not  heard. 

Even  so  grandfather  eyed  me  with  stem  disfavor  from 
the  first  because  of  my  striking  resemblance  to  my  father 
who  had  defied  him  years  before;  who,  when  forbidden 
to  set  foot  inside  the  house,  met  the  only  daughter  se- 
cretly and  persuaded  her  to  a  runaway  marriage  with 
himself,  whom  grandfather  styled  "the  scapegrace  son  of 
a  land-poor  aristocrat."  The  "scapegrace"  part  of  it 
was  false,  but  my  father  did  trace  his  descent  through 
long  lines  of  distinguished  names.  Mother's  father,  on 
the  other  hand,  conscious  of  humble  origin,  affected  to 
despise  this  lineage,  and  nursed  resentment  against  the 
marriage  which,  offending  only  his  prejudice,  left  unfilled 
his  prophecy.  Information  of  my  birth  and  Alison's  was 
unacknowledged.  He  refused  to  attend  my  father's  fu- 
neral, but  indicated  his  willingness  to  receive  the  widowed 
daughter  in  his  home.     If  my  mother  cherished  any  hope 

4 


THE  BREAK  WITH  GRANDFATHER 

beforehand  that  the  child  who  accompanied  her  would 
further  the  entire  reconciliation  for  which  she  longed, 
that  hope  was  banished  at  grandfather's  first  sight  of 
me.  Mother  cared  for  me  the  more  because  I  was  so  like 
my  father.  For  that  very  resemblance  grandfather  hated 
me.  Understanding  this,  she  then  kept  me  away  from 
him  as  much  as  possible.  After  her  death  I  soon  dis- 
covered why. 

At  first,  with  the  spontaneity  of  the  child  of  love,  who 
wants  to  be  friends  with  every  one,  I  ran  to  meet  him 
halfway  down  the  hill  after  watching  long  at  the  window 
for  a  glimpse  of  him  on  his  homecoming  at  the  close  of 
day.  The  rebuff  I  met,  instead,  marked  the  dawning  of 
self-consciousness.  My  resentment,  too,  was  roused  by 
the  tone  of  his  frequent  reference  to  my  father  in  con- 
versations with  Aunt  Jane,  which  he  may  have  thought 
me  far  too  young  to  comprehend. 

Aunt  Jane  herself,  under  the  lifelong  domination  of 
grandfather's  iron  will,  was  only  a  degree  less  stem, 
though  I  am  sure  she  never  meant  to  be  unkind.  But  it 
was  a  long  time  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  the  lan- 
guage of  childhood — language  whose  most  significant 
utterance  is  often  found  in  its  silences — was  foreign  to 
her  now,  and  there  had  been  nothing  in  the  experience 
of  the  intervening  years  to  serve  her  as  interpreter. 
Then,  too,  it  was  hard  at  her  age  to  be  burdened  with 
responsibility  for  the  training  of  a  child.  But  there  was 
nobody  else.  My  father,  like  my  mother,  had  no  broth- 
ers or  sisters,  and  neither  of  his  parents  was  alive. 

Aunt  Jane  I  never  loved,  but  time  has  somewhat  soft- 
ened now  the  harsh  outline  of  her ;  and,  looking  down  the 
vista  of  past  years  through  more  discerning  eyes  than 
first  regarded  her,  I  see  only  a  woman  who  did  her  duty 
according  to  her  light.  Any  one  dependent  on  grand- 
father deserved  much  sympathy.  In  addition  I  owe  her 
gratitude,  for  besides  starting  my  feet  on  the  established 
paths  of  rectitude,  she  often  mitigated,  in  a  frigid  fashion 

5 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

of  her  own,  grandfather's  severity.  It  is  all  so  long  ago 
— the  lonely  childhood  in  the  silent,  grim  old  house — 
that  it  might  almost  seem  to  me  the  chance-seen  picture 
of  another's  early  life,  save  that  in  the  woman  who 
writes  this  lives  the  logical  survivor  of  the  child  who, 
growing  up  in  that  atmosphere  of  repression,  walked 
softly  all  the  day,  and  cried  herself  to  sleep  at  night. 

But  the  atmosphere  of  repression  stifles  soon  or  late, 
and  then  comes  the  life-or-death  struggle  for  fresh  air. 
At  fifteen,  I  justified  my  heritage — I  defied  my  grand- 
father. Soon  after  my  graduation  from  the  village  high 
school,  grandfather  sent  for  me  to  join  him  in  the  sitting- 
room.  It  was  a  chilly  evening  in  a  northern  New  Eng- 
land June.  I  found  him  standing  by  the  chimney-piece 
warming  his  hands  at  the  fire  in  the  grate.  He  curtly 
informed  me  that  having  now  finished  school,  I  was 
hereafter  to  help  him  in  the  factory.  For  many  years  he 
had  owned  a  woolen  mill,  and  in  the  old  days  had  carded 
rolls  and  woven  cloth  for  all  the  countryside ;  but  times 
had  changed,  capital  and  enterprise  had  broken  in,  and 
competition  was  fast  crowding  him  to  the  wall,  ham- 
pered as  he  was  by  antiquated  machinery,  small  equip- 
ment, and  business  methods  utterly  inadequate  to  the 
altered  conditions  of  the  day.  Ignoring  facts,  grand- 
father laid  the  blame  on  the  bookkeeper. 

"The  fellow's  been  robbing  me  for  years,"  he  said. 
"However,  I'll  turn  him  off,  and  put  you  in  his  place. 
You  are  fairly  intelligent  for  a  girl,  and  have  some  head 
for  figures,  so  I  can  teach  you  my  way  of  doing  business. 
Be  ready  to-morrow  morning  at  half-past  six.  That's 
all. ' '  With  a  gesture  of  dismissal,  he  began  to  poke  the 
fire. 

I  drew  a  long  breath.     "No,  sir,  it  isn't  all, "  said  I. 

Grandfather  turned  abruptly  from  the  hearth  and 
looked  at  me.  As  my  eyes  did  not  falter  before  his 
frown,  his  jaw  tightened  ominously.     Finally  he  spoke. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

6 


THE  BREAK  WITH  GRANDFATHER 

' '  I  mean  that  I  shall  never  set  foot  in  your  factory. 
I'm  going  to  the  University  of  Manchester." 

Grandfather's  opinion  that  a  "college  education" 
was  a  waste  of  money  and  of  time  was  well  known  to 
me.  Consequently,  his  next  words  held  for  me  no  sur- 
prise. "You  can't  go  without  money,  and  I  won't  give 
you  one  cent.  You've  been  kept  at  school  already  far 
too  long,  and  you've  cost  me  more  now  than  your  mother 
ever  did. ' ' 

Then  I  freed  my  mind  of  its  stored-up  bitterness.  I 
told  him  that  I  would  never  take  one  cent  from  him, 
even  if  on  bended  knee  he  craved  acceptance  as  a  boon ; 
that  his  bread  had  choked  me  ever  since  the  day  I  first 
realized  how  unwelcome  was  my  presence  in  his  house; 
that  notwithstanding  this  I  had  endured  existence  under- 
neath his  roof,  and  had  been  subject  to  his  will  until  such 
time  as  I  could  strike  out  for  myself.  That  time  so 
eagerly  awaited  had  now  come,  I  said,  and  added  that 
just  as  soon  as  I  was  able  I  should  pay  him  with  interest 
at  the  legal  rate  for  my  maintenance  thus  far. 

It  was  all  very  young  and  very  theatrical.  I  forgot 
that  he  was  an  old  man,  and  that  his  blood  flowed  in  my 
veins.  I  forgot  everything  except  that  he  had  made  my 
mother  suffer  in  her  youth,  that  he  spoke  ill  of  my  father, 
who,  dead,  could  not  defend  himself,  and  that  on  me  he 
wreaked  vengeance  for  my  birth.  I  hurled  at  grand- 
father facts  I  had  stumbled  on  one  day,  when,  banished  to 
the  attic  as  punishment  for  sliding  down  the  banister 
in  the  lower  hall,  I  whiled  the  hours  away  by  ransack- 
ing the  contents  of  an  old  hair-covered  trunk.  Thus 
learned  from  a  yellowing  letter  written  in  my  mother's 
correct  Spencerian  hand,  that  she,  too,  had  rebelled 
against  the  rigors  of  the  factory,  and  at  eighteen,  in 
order  to  earn  the  money  he  would  not  give  her  for  tui- 
tion at  the  best  known  female  seminary  of  her  day  in 
that  locality,  had  taught  district  school.  I,  too,  would 
teach  school,  I  said,  and  would  graduate  in  time  from  the 

7 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

University  of  Manchester,  to  which  women  were  now 
admitted  on  the  same  terms  as  men.  It  was  my  father's 
alma  mater.     I  would  follow  in  his  steps. 

Then,  out  of  breath,  I  sank  into  a  chair  and  stared 
across  the  room  at  grandfather,  who  stood  motionless,  a 
tall,  gaunt  figure  by  the  hearth. 

"Very  well,"  he  answered,  in  slow  decisive  tones. 
"I  wash  my  hands  of  you.  To-morrow  morning  you 
will  leave  this  house.     You  are  your  father's  child. " 


CHAPTER  in 
PAWNING    MY    mother's   WATCH 

THE  open  break  with  grandfather — as  I  found  out 
long  before  I  slept  that  night — had  come  before  I 
was  quite  ready  for  it  in  the  matter  of  details. 
All  along,  I  had  planned  to  go  to  college,  not  as  a  stu- 
dent plans,  for  there  was  nothing  of  the  student  in  my 
make-up;  but  I  had  looked  forward  to  entering  the  Uni- 
versity of  Manchester  as  the  means  of  an  escape  from 
grandfather,  as  a  stepping-stone  to  acquaintance  with 
those  who  had  known  and  valued  both  my  parents,  as 
the  first  move  toward  reunion  with  Alison.  She  was  the 
only  living  link  between  me  and  a  happy  past;  with  her 
was  connected  all  I  longed  for  in  the  years  to  come. 
Finding  the  real  world  so  unendurable  at  grandfather's, 
I  had  built  up  for  myself  an  imaginary  world.  And  it  all 
centered  around  Alison. 

Since  my  mother's  death,  there  had  been  no  com- 
munication from  the  Coleses,  but  I  often  read  of  them  in 
a  weekly  newspaper  to  which  grandfather  subscribed. 
They  were  people  of  prominence  in  their  village,  and 
were  consequently  of  perennial  interest  to  the  social  edi- 
tor. Second  only  to  the  Coleses  as  objects  of  my  weekly 
search  through  the  columns  of  that  newspaper,  was  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Lawton,  a  woman  known  to  me  as  one  of 
my  mother's  old-time  friends.  Since  coming  to  grand- 
father's I  had  never  seen  her,  and  my  early  recollections 
of  her  personality  were  too  vague  to  be  dependable ;  but 
her  name  stood  out  distinctly  in  memory,  and  from  the 
newspaper  I  learned  that  she  was  diligent  in  good  works. 
3  9 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

I  now  decided  to  go  to  her,  and  ask  her  for  advice  con- 
cerning means  of  self-support  while  I  studied  at  the  uni- 
versity. But  how  to  go?  I  had  no  money,  and  it  was 
too  far  to  walk,  when  all  one's  future  might  depend  on 
making  a  good  impression  at  the  journey's  end. 

After  casting  about  in  many  directions  unsuccessfully 
for  some  way  of  raising  money  immediately,  my  thoughts 
turned  to  the  one  possession  which  I  prized  more  than  all 
else  besides.  It  was  my  mother's  watch,  a  quaint  time- 
piece in  a  case  of  rare  workmanship.  My  father  had  given 
it  to  her.  I  remembered  now  that  a  schoolmate  of  mine, 
whose  parents  kept  her  well  supplied  with  pocket  money, 
admired  it  excessively,  and  had  often  begged  to  borrow 
it.  It  had  been  a  long-standing  custom,  hers  and  mine, 
to  loan  each  other  "treasures"  now  and  then.  The 
"treasures"  would  seem  simple  indeed  judged  by  the 
school-girl  standard  of  to-day,  and  even  then,  gauged  by 
rural  reckoning,  my  supply  was  very  limited.  The  best 
that  I  could  muster,  exclusive  of  the  watch,  was  a  rib- 
bon or  two  of  unusual  design  and  weave,  a  bracelet,  and 
a  brooch.  These  I  had  acquired  by  stealth,  dragging 
them  forth  from  the  attic  gloom ;  and  she  had  taken  them 
home  from  school  with  her  on  various  occasions  when  I  in 
turn  succeeded  to  temporary  ownership  of  treasures  from 
her  store.  But  I  was  always  deaf  to  petitions  for  the 
watch.  She  hadn't  one  herself,  and,  therefore,  was  per- 
haps the  more  covetous  of  mine.  Her  parents  were 
indulgent  in  most  matters  of  her  choice,  but,  for  reasons 
of  their  own,  had  not*  yet  given  her  a  watch.  At  all 
events  she  was  often  hurt  by  my  refusal  to  loan  it  to  her 
"just  for  overnight."  It  had  always  seemed  to  me  I 
could  not  part  with  it;  but  now  I  saw  that  to  leave  the 
watch  with  her,  was  the  only  feasible  means  of  raising 
funds  at  once  for  journeying  to  Manchester. 

This  schoolmate  lived  near  by.  Very  early  in  the 
morning,  I  went  to  her  and  poured  into  her  sympathetic 
ears  the  story  of  my  break  with  grandfather.     My  re- 

10 


PAWNING  MY  MOTHER'S  WATCH 

solve  to  start  out  afoot,  alone  and  penniless,  in  search  of 
an  education — for  so  it  mistakenly  appeared  to  her  who 
knew  not  the  deeper  motive  of  my  quest — fired  her  gen- 
erous soul.  With  difficulty  I  restrained  her  from  rushing 
pellmell  to  her  parents  with  a  statement  of  my  need.  At 
last,  however,  I  made  her  understand  that  all  I  would 
accept  was  an  advance  of  money  in  return  for  loaning 
her  the  watch  against  such  time  as  I  could  redeem  it 
from  her  hand.  Her  quarter's  allowance  had  been  paid 
just  the  day  before.  She  insisted  on  transferring  it  to  me 
intact;  and,  with  youthful  enthusiasm,  she  added  many 
roseate  predictions  of  success  for  me,  together  with  oft- 
repeated  promises  that  the  precious  watch  should  have 
the  best  of  care. 


CHAPTER  IV 
SETTING  OUT  FOR  COLLEGE 

GRANDFATHER  I  did  not  see  again.  Not  even  such 
an  early  riser  as  himself  was  stirring  when  I  stole 
out  of  the  house  to  confide  in  my  schoolmate ;  and 
by  the  time  I  was  back  again,  after  having  purchased  a 
new  pair  of  shoes  and  after  calling  at  the  expressman's 
on  the  way,  he  had  long  since  breakfasted  and  gone  to 
the  factory.  What  he  told  Aunt  Jane  before  he  went,  I 
never  knew,  but  that  he  had  told  her  something  I  recog- 
nized at  once.  Her  manner,  to  be  sure,  as  she  waited  for 
me  at  the  breakfast-table  showed  her  usual  impassivity, 
but  the  waiting  was  itself  significant.  By  this  time, 
ordinarily,  the  dishes  were  all  washed.  Drawing  up  a 
chair,  I  sat  down  to  the  belated  meal.  She  eyed  me 
with  her  customary  apathetic  glance,  but  there  was  no 
chiding  for  my  tardiness. 

"Aunt  Jane,"  I  said,  trying  to  make  my  voice  sound 
natural,  "I'm  going  to  Manchester  by  the  ten  o'clock 
train  to-day,  and — and  I'm  not  coming  back." 

She  nodded  grimly,  and  turned  her  attention  to  the 
coffee-pot.  I  said  nothing  more,  but  going  through  the 
form  of  breakfast  as  quickly  as  I  could,  fled  upstairs  to 
pack.  The  packing  was  soon  attended  to,  for  all  my 
worldly  goods  but  half  filled  one  small  trunk.  The  ex- 
pressman, ordered  for  an  early  hour,  appeared  even  ear- 
lier ;  and  then,  the  trunk  started  on  its  way,  I  found  myself 
with  a  full  three-quarters  of  an  hour  on  my  hands. 

I  remember,  as  distinctly  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  how 
the  moments  dragged  while  in  the  dismantled  chamber  I 

12 


SETTING  OUT  FOR  COLLEGE 

sat  staring  at  a  cheap  alarm  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 
A  terrible  load  would  be  lifted  instantly,  I  felt,  once  I 
was  in  the  train ;  but  it  seemed  ages  till  train-time.  It 
was  a  short  distance  to  the  railway  station,  but  there  were 
lions  in  the  path.  To  be  sure  grandfather  was  safely 
out  of  range  in  the  factory,  but  in  any  case  I  hated  him 
so  utterly  that  there  was  no  room  for  fear  of  him.  The 
schoolmate  whose  pecuniary  aid  had  made  the  journey 
possible  had  insisted  on  seeing  me  off  as  well,  and  her 
home  being  nearer  to  the  railway  station  than  was  grand- 
father's, I  had  agreed  to  call  for  her.  But  it  was  so 
early  that  there  was  no  likelihood  of  her  being  ready 
yet;  furthermore,  I  shrank  from  the  questioning  of  her 
family  if  opportunity  were  given  them  to  voice  their 
curiosity.  I  even  shrank  from  the  dear  girl  herself,  for 
my  own  spontaneity  had  been  so  repressed  that  I  was 
keenly  apprehensive  of  her  impulsiveness.  With  the 
best  intention  in  the  world  she  couldn't  keep  a  secret 
long,  and  I  wanted  to  get  away  before  the  neighbors 
knew. 

To  this  train  of  thought  the  ticking  of  the  clock  kept 
up  monotonous  accompaniment,  while  through  it  all  I 
was  conscious  of  Aunt  Jane's  heavy  tread  on  the  floor  be- 
low. It  seemed  to  typify  all  her  harshness  and  frigidity, 
and  the  approaching  farewell  interview  grew  every  mo- 
ment more  formidable.  Although  eager  to  have  it  over 
with,  I  found  myself  putting  it  off  as  long  as  possible. 
At  last  the  menace  of  the  minute-hand  left  me  no  alterna- 
tive. With  a  realization — half  joy  and  half  solemnity — 
that  I  was  descending  the  staircase  for  the  last  time,  and 
careful,  too,  from  habit,  to  avoid  the  step  that  creaked,  I 
made  my  way  down  to  the  sitting-room.  Just  outside 
the  door  I  halted,  for  a  final  clutch  on  courage.  Every- 
thing was  still  inside.  Suddenly  the  kitchen  clock, 
always  ahead  of  time,  began  to  strike  the  hour  of  ten ; 
and  thus  spurred  on,  I  went  into  the  presence  of  Aunt 
Jane.     She  rose  stiffly  and  laid  aside  her  knitting  work. 

:3 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"I've  come  to  say  good-by,  Aunt  Jane, "  I  murmured, 
adding  awkwardly,  "and — thank  you  for  all  you've  done 
for  me." 

She  pushed  up  her  spectacles,  and  gave  me  a  long 
look.  * '  You  have  asked  no  advice  about  this  move, ' '  she 
said  at  last,  ' '  and  I  shall  offer  none. ' ' 

With  that  I  felt  myself  dismissed,  and  lost  no  time  in 
getting  out  of  doors.  Half-way  down  the  path  to  the 
green  gate  in  the  hedge,  she  ran  after  me.  *  *  Here,  child, 
take  this,"  she  whispered,  and  thrust  a  five-dollar  bill 
into  my  hand.  Grandfather  never  allowed  her  to  have 
money,  so  her  generosity  was  the  more  mysterious ;  but 
it  was  not  the  material  gift  that  broke  down  my  self- 
control. 

For  a  moment,  sobbing,  I  clung  to  her.  Then,  with  a 
vague  sense  of  strangeness,  and  with  some  twinges  of  re- 
morse for  causing  Aunt  Jane  embarrassment,  I  released 
her,  said  "thank  you"  again,  and  walked  hurriedly  away. 
Once  I  looked  back,  but  Aunt  Jane  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  PRESIDENT  BEFRIENDS  ME 

THE  load  did  lift  when  I  was  in  the  train.  Having 
burned  my  bridges,  the  cheering  warmth  of  the 
conflagration  impressed  me  more  than  its  finality. 
With  every  mile  of  the  journey,  my  spirits  rose.  I  might 
have  been  a  princess  soon  to  be  a  queen,  setting  out  on 
a  triumphal  progress  to  a  foreign  country  whose  king 
awaits  her  coming  with  all  the  pomp  of  royalty  and  the 
impatience  of  young  love. 

By  the  ticket  in  my  hand,  my  destination  was  the 
town  of  Manchester.  In  my  heart  I  felt  that  I  was  going 
to  Alison.  Just  how  I  was  to  reach  her,  I  did  not  know; 
for  the  present  it  would  be  enough — if  nothing  more  were 
possible — to  breathe  the  same  air  that  she  breathed,  to 
know  the  same  people,  to  have  similar  interests.  Of 
course,  I  did  not  think  it  all  out  with  an  analysis  of 
motives  and  a  balancing  of  probable  results.  At  fifteen 
we  don't  pull  things  to  pieces  to  see  how  they  are  made. 
We  take  them  as  they  are.  Yet,  even  then  the  conditions 
of  my  life  had  made  me  overserious  for  my  years,  and 
I  realized  there  would  be  hardships  to  endure.  But  the 
mountains  of  difficulty  were  all  reduced  to  molehills  in 
advance  by  the  belief  that  someway,  somehow,  I  was 
going  to  the  sister  I  had  worshiped  from  afar. 

Arrived  at  Manchester,  I  went  directly  to  the  Young 
Woman's  Christian  Association,  whose  addre^  I  knew 
from  the  newspaper  I  had  read  for  years  at  grandfather's. 
The  Association  maintained  a  board  directory,  and 
through  this  I  secured  before  nightfall  a  boarding  place. 

15 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

After  supper  I  set  out,  intertding  to  introduce  myself  to 
Mrs.  Lawton,  tell  her  of  my  break  with  grandfather,  and 
ask  her  for  advice. 

It  was  vacation  now,  and  the  summer  hush  had  settled 
on  the  town.  Of  the  Commencement-week  festivities  I 
had  read  but  recently,  thrilling  to  the  thought  that  when 
that  season  next  rolled  round,  I,  too,  should  be  a  part  of 
the  university.  To  myself,  indeed  I  seemed  already  to 
belong  to  it,  as,  in  the  early  evening,  beneath  the  over- 
arching elms  of  College  Street,  I  climbed  the  hill  and 
caught  my  first  glimpse  of  the  group  of  buildings  that 
crowned  the  summit.  For  many  honored  years,  the 
name  of  my  father's  family  had  figured  in  the  annals  of 
the  university,  and  perhaps  the  deserted  aspect  of  the 
academic  halls  as  I  reverently  gazed  up  at  them  made 
me  feel  the  more  at  home.  Untenanted  by  living  occu- 
pants they  became  for  me  more  vividly  the  haunts  of 
my  ancestors.  Even  the  campus  wore  a  familiar  air 
when  first  I  stepped  on  it.  For  some  time  I  wandered 
aimlessly  up  and  down,  drinking  in  my  fill  of  the  joy  of 
being  there ;  and  then,  as  naturally  as  if  I  had  done  it 
all  my  life,  turned  aside  from  the  well -traveled  circuit 
of  the  long  way  round  to  the  short  cut  that  led  diag- 
onally to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Lawton. 

As  the  gate  clicked  behind  me,  I  had  a  sudden  feeling 
of  timidity.  All  along  I  had  counted  on  the  co-operation 
of  my  mother's  friend.  But  perhaps  she  would  regard 
me  as  a  reckless,  headstrong  girl  to  defy  my  grandfather. 
She  might  refuse  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me. 
Slowly  I  walked  up  the  path,  and,  after  stooping  fur- 
tively to  wipe  the  dust  from  my  new  shoes,  mounted  the 
front  steps.  No  one  was  in  sight,  and  the  front  door  was 
closed.  I  rang  the  bell.  Its  long  reverberation  seemed  a 
mockery.  .  After  a  period  of  waiting,  I  rang  again.  Still 
there  was  no  response.  I  went  to  the  side  door.  That 
was  fastened,  too.  Half-way  to  the  bam,  I  met  a  man 
who  said  he  was  the  gardener,  and  also  informed  me  that 

16 


THE  PRESIDENT  BEFRIENDS  ME 

the  family  had  left  home  three  days  before  for  a  Euro- 
pean trip.  Noticing  my  crestfallen  look,  he  added 
kindly,  ' '  I  could  give  you  their  address. ' ' 

The  unexpectedness  of  Mrs.  Lawton's  absence  made 
me  oblivious  of  all  else.  I  stood  silent,  lost  in  thought. 
Meanwhile  the  gardener  was  fumbling  through  his 
pockets,  and  presently  produced  a  piece  of  paper  covered 
with  closely  written  lines.  This  paper  he  held  out  to 
me. 

"There's  such  a  lot  of  it — ^foreign  words  an'  all — 
that  I  ain't  learned  it  yet.     Read  it  for  yourself." 

Then  I  pulled  myself  together,  thanked  the  gardener, 
and  told  him  that  Mrs.  Lawton's  address  in  Europe  was 
of  no  use  to  me.  "You  say  she'll  be  back  early  in  the 
fall?" 

"When  college  opens,  yes.  This  burg  is  a  dead  one 
in  vacation  time.     Everybody  on  the  hill  goes  away. ' ' 

Then  I  went  back  to  the  campus,  sat  down  on  a 
bench,  and  took  a  long  look  around.  Everything  bore 
witness  to  the  gardener's  veracity.  Not  only  were  the 
college  buildings  dark,  but  the  private  houses  were 
gloom-enshrouded,  too,  and  the  silence  in  which  I  had 
read  a  welcome  earlier,  now  seemed  ominous.  Further- 
more, night  was  coming  on — not  a  star  was  in  the  sky. 
The  town  clock  struck  the  hour;  it  was  later  than  I 
thought,  and  I  started  up,  wondering  which  way  to  go. 
Here  and  there  a  street  lamp  glimmered,  and  by  this 
guidance,  I  was  slowly  making  my  way  on,  when  all  at 
once,  I  found  myself  near  a  brightly  lighted  house,  and 
by  the  long  rays  streaming  from  a  window,  made  out 
the  figure  of  a  half-grown  boy  coming  down  the  path. 
At  the  gate  he  passed  me. 

"Who  lives  there?"  I  asked. 

"There?"  A  backward  shift  of  his  thumb  empha- 
sized contempt  for  my  ignorance.  "Why  that's  Prexy's 
house. ' ' 

' '  Prexy  ? "  I  mused.     ' '  What  a  queer  name ! ' ' 
17 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

The  boy  burst  into  a  laugh.  "Oh,  it  ain't  his  real 
name,  you  know.  It's  Prexy  for  short, "  and  he  laughed 
again.  "He  gets  letters  that's  addressed  to  President 
Breen  of  the  University  of  Manchester. ' ' 

Even  as  the  boy  was  speaking,  I  decided  what  to  do. 
Without  giving  myself  time  to  change  my  mind  or  to  be 
afraid,  I  hurried  up  the  path  and  rang  the  bell.  The 
president  himself  answered  it.  He  was  a  tall  man, 
spare,  and  a  little  bent.  ' '  Come  in,  come  in, ' '  he  said, 
and  ushered  me  into  a  room  whose  walls  were  lined  with 
books. 

Much  abashed  I  sank  into  the  first  chair  I  saw.  It 
happened  to  be  an  armchair,  wide  and  deep  and  high. 
It  was  very  uncomfortable,  for  my  feet  didn't  reach  the 
floor;  but  having  once  chosen  it,  I  was  too  embarrassed 
to  make  another  move.  So  I  sat  there,  far  back  in  its 
depths,  with  a  hand  on  each  arm-rest. 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  asked  the  president. 

"I  don't  exactly  know — "  unconsciously  I  sighed — 
"but  I  want  to  go  to  college." 

The  president  smiled  indulgently.  "That's  laudable 
ambition,  to  be  sure !  If  you  hold  fast  to  it  through  the 
years  of  preparation,  there's  little'doubt  of  your  success. " 

"But,  sir,  I  have  finished  preparation.  I  have  a 
diploma  from  the High  School. ' ' 

"Why,  bless  my  soul,"  he  said.  "I  took  you  for  a 
child.     How  old  are  you,  please  ?'  * 

"Fifteen  and  a  half,"  said  L 

At  this  he  smiled  again.  "Well,  I  wasn't  so  far 
wrong,  after  all.     And  your  home?" 

"I  haven't  any  home.  My  name  is  Dorothy  Bald- 
win. ' ' 

The  president  started  at  the  name.  I  told  him  who 
were  my  father,  my  great-uncles,  and  my  paternal  grand- 
father. Then  he  looked  long  at  me,  nodding  his  head  a 
little.     "I  might  have  known,"  he  said. 

After  that  it  seemed  very  natural  to  tell  him  all  about 
18 


THE  PRESIDENT  BEFRIENDS  ME 

it — all  but  Alison.  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  mention 
her,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  I  should :  that  I  was 
the  last  survivor  of  the  family  name,  and  that  I  wanted 
to  work  my  way  through  the  university,  were  sufficient 
for  the  president.  He  in  turn  explained  that  he  was 
leaving  town  next  day,  but  that  before  he  went,  he  would 
confer  with  Professor  Gryce  in  regard  to  giving  me  some 
summer  work  in  the  college  library.  Professor  Gryce,  it 
seemed,  was  the  librarian,  and  meant  to  take  advantage 
of  the  comparative  leisure  of  vacation  time  to  catalogue 
a  large  bequest  of  books  the  university  had  recently 
received.  The  task  was  just  begun,  but  already  the 
president  understood  more  help  was  needed  in  the  vast 
amount  of  routine  work  entailed ;  at  any  rate,  he  assured 
me,  he  would  ask  Professor  Gryce  to  make  a  place  for 
me.  "Though  your  name  alone  would  be  enough  to 
enlist  his  interest, ' '  the  president  kindly  said.  Nor  did 
his  kindness  stop  there.  He  told  me  of  my  father's 
father,  gave  me  some  practical  advice  about  wise  ex- 
penditure of  the  small  amount  of  money  at  my  command, 
and  finally,  charging  me  to  await  some  communication 
from  Professor  Gryce,  sent  a  servant  to  escort  me  to  my 
boarding  place. 


CHAPTER  VI 
FIRST  NEWS  OF  MY  SISTER 

FOLLOWING  the  president's  farewell  injunction,  I 
waited  for  some  word  from  Professor  Gryce,  For 
a  week  I  scarcely  ventured  from  the  house,  lest  in 
my  absence  the  expected  summons  should  arrive  and  be 
mislaid.  The  postman  I  watched  from  the  moment  he 
first  turned  into  our  street  till  he  was  lost  to  sight; 
messenger  boys  bound  for  other  houses  in  the  neighbor- 
hood I  regarded  longingly.    All  without  avail. 

Every  day  I  counted  the  money  loaned  by  my  school- 
mate. At  grandfather's  it  had  seemed  a  large  sum  in- 
deed, but  in  Manchester,  with  expenses  springing  up  on 
all  sides  to  confront  me  unawares,  it  looked  very  small. 
To  make  time  pass  more  rapidly,  I  tried  to  study ;  but  I 
was  not  naturally  studious,  and  found  it  impossible  to 
solve  equations  in  algebra  while  anxiety  preyed  on  my 
mind.  Daily  I  read  the  newspaper,  but  it  made  no  im- 
pression after  I  gleaned,  from  the  columns  devoted  to 
affairs  in  the  adjoining  village,  that  Dr.  Coles  was  taking 
a  vacation  for  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years,  and  with 
Mrs.  Coles  and  their  little  daughter  Alison,  had  gone  to 
the  Yellowstone,  and  would  perhaps  visit  Alaska  before 
returning  home.  It  seems  strange  now  that  I  did  not 
sooner  investigate  matters  at  the  college  library,  but 
grandfather  and  Aunt  Jane  had  trained  me  to  obey  im- 
plicitly the  spoken  word.  The  president  had  said 
"Wait."     Wait  I  must. 

After  ten  days,  however,  I  mustered  up  courage  for 
what  seemed  to  me  a  heinous  act  of  disobedience.    I  pre- 

20 


FIRST  NEWS  OF  MY  SISTER 

sented  myself  at  the  desk  in  the  college  library,  and  in  a 
low  tone,  asked  if  I  might  please  see  Professor  Gryce. 

The  tone  was  so  low  that  the  attendant,  a  young 
woman  wearing  glasses,  couldn't  hear.  "What  is  it  you 
wish?"  she  inquired,  in  a  brisk,  businesslike  manner  as 
she  took  me  in  from  head  to  foot  I  was  small  even  for 
my  age,  and  something  in  her  glance  implied  that  this 
was  no  place  for  me.  Whereupon  I  drew  myself  up  to 
my  full  height,  and  endeavored  to  increase  it  by  remem- 
bering that  I  was  a  high-school  graduate.  "I  should 
like  to  see  Professor  Gryce, ' '  I  announced,  with  dignity. 

*  *  Not  here, ' '  said  the  attendant.  Suddenly  my  dig- 
nity was  gone,  and  I  was  nothing  but  an  anxious,  dis- 
appointed girl  again,  before  whose  eyes  blurred  visions 
of  Europe,  Alaska,  and  the  Yellowstone.  Truly  had  the 
gardener  said  that  everybody  went  away.  Still  I  lin- 
gered at  the  desk,  and  presently  the  young  woman 
spoke  again. 

' '  Laid  up  with  rheumatism.  Be  here  to-morrow,  we 
expect.     Any  message  ?' ' 

"Why — no, "  I  stammered.  "I've  been  looking  for  a 
message  from  him.  The  president  said  that  Professor 
Gryce  would  communicate  with  me. ' ' 

The  attendant  shoved  toward  me  an  official-looking 
slip  of  paper,  and  pointed  to  a  pen.  ' '  Leave  your  name 
and  address?" 

I  did  so,  and  within  two  days  received  a  note  from 
Professor  Gryce,  explaining  that  he  had  just  found  a  let- 
ter he  had  written  me  more  than  a  week  earlier,  which 
through  somebody's  mistake,  had  not  been  mailed.  In 
his  enforced  absence  from  the  library  since  that  time,  he 
had  not  been  able,  he  said,  to  keep  in  touch  with  the 
progress  of  cataloguing,  but  until  his  return  he  had  sup- 
posed that  I  was  among  those  engaged  in  it.  They  were 
behindhand  now.  Would  I  report  at  half-past  nine  on 
Wednesday  morning,  prepared  to  begin  work  at  once? 

Professor  Gryce  I  found  to  be  the  gentlest,  most  con- 
21 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

siderate  of  men ;  under  his  instruction  I  soon  mastered 
the  routine  and  performed  acceptably  the  work  required 
of  me.  The  salary  was  small,  but  it  enabled  me  to  live ; 
and  by  the  time  college  opened  in  the  fall,  I  had  repaid 
the  money  loaned  by  my  schoolmate,  and  had  regained 
possession  of  my  mother's  watch. 

Long  before  that  time,  I  discovered,  too,  the  attitude 
of  the  Coleses  to  me,  a  discovery  for  which,  in  my  youth 
and  ignorance,  I  was  wholly  unprepared.  This  is  the 
way  it  came  about : 

Miss  Ames,  one  of  my  fellow-workers  in  the  library, 
lived  in  the  adjoining  village,  which  was  the  home  of  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Coles.  One  day  she  told  me  that  in  conversa- 
tion the  previous  evening  she  had  chanced  to  speak  my 
name  in  the  hearing  of  a  neighbor.  This  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Shelling,  then  questioned  Miss  Ames,  and  finally 
decided  that  I  must  be  the  daughter  of  "A  saint  on 
earth,"  she  called  her,  whose  memory  she  revered. 
Accordingly  she  sent  me,  through  Miss  Ames,  an  urgent 
invitation  to  come  to  see  her  as  soon  as  possible.  This 
invitation  was  reinforced  by  a  letter  she  wrote  me ;  and 
the  next  Saturday  afternoon  I  set  out,  all  eagerness,  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Shelling. 

She  proved  to  be  the  destroyer  of  illusions,  and  the 
bearer  of  bad  news ;  but,  even  before  she  spoke  a  word,  I 
inwardly  recoiled  from  her,  and  she  was  disappointed, 
too,  in  me. 

"Well,  you  don't  look  like  your  mother,  do  you?" 
was  the  way  she  greeted  me  in  the  doorway  of  her  home. 
' '  Howsumever, ' '  pulling  me  into  the  house,  ' '  handsome 
is  as  handsome  does.  Your  mother  wasn't  a  beauty 
either,  but  she  was  so  good  that  it  just  shone  out  in  her 
face.  And  she  was  the  highest-educated  person  that 
ever  set  foot  in  my  house.  Some  folks  put  on  airs  just 
because  they  know  more'n  the  rest  of  us,  but  it  wa'n't 
so  with  your  ma.  The  more  she  read  an'  studied — she 
was  always  studyin' — the  humbler  she  was,  an'  there 

22 


FIRST  NEWS  OF  MY  SISTER 

wa'n't  nobody  too  low  f  r  her  to  speak  to  an'  try  to  help. 
Not  that  she  preached  goodness  to  'em.  She  didn't.  But 
she  practiced  goodness  all  the  time,  an'  that's  what  folks 
remember  after  you  are  gone. ' '  Then,  in  the  casual  way 
in  which  people  tear  open  a  wound,  Mrs.  Shelling  in- 
quired, ' '  Ever  hear  from  your  sister  ?' ' 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Well,"  my  hostess  went  on,  as  if  glad  of  a  chance  to 
free  her  mind,  "I  didn't  suppose  you  did.  The  Coleses 
just  worship  the  ground  that  child  walks  on.  Nothin's 
too  good  f'r  her,  an'  it'll  be  a  mercy  if  she  ain't  spoiled. 
How  old  is  she  now?" 

"Twelve." 

"I  thought  so.  Well,  she's  like  a  little  doll,  as  pretty 
an'  dressed  up  as  can  be,  an'  they  say  she's  quicker'n 
chain  lightnin',  too.  But,  of  course,  all  the  old  inhabi- 
tants know  she  didn't  get  her  brains  from  the  Coleses. 
An'  between  you  an'  me,"  Mrs.  Shelling  nodded  em- 
phatically, "that's  what's  worryin'  'em.  They're  so 
afraid  somebody '11  tell  her  she  ain't  their  own  child  that 
it's  as  much  as  ever  they'll  do  to  let  her  out  of  their  sight 
a  minute.  You  know,  Mrs.  Coles  was  pretty  well  along 
in  years  when  she  got  married,  anyway ;  an'  then  marry  in' 
her  first  cousin  so,  why,  children  was  a  sensitive  point 
with  her.  An'  she  overdoes  it,  try  in'  to  convince  herself 
an'  everybody  else  that  Alison's  her  own  flesh  an'  blood. 
An'  the  doctor  is  every  mite  as  bad.  That  child  drives 
with  him  everywhere  when  he's  out  makin'  calls,  unless 
it's  somethin'  catchin'.  Why,  it  has  got  to  be  a  joke. 
When  Dr.  Coles's  buggy  stands  in  front  of  anybody's 
house  the  neighbors  can  always  tell  whether  folks  has 
anything  contagious  the  matter  with  'em,  accordin'  to 
whether  Alison  is  on  the  driver's  seat  or  not.  An'  she 
ain't  allowed  to  go  to  public  school  for  fear  some  of  the 
scholars  will  up  an'  tell  her  she's  adopted.  She  studies 
at  home,  I'd  have  you  know,  an'  a  high-priced  teacher 
comes  every  day  from  Manchester  to  hear  her  lessons. 

23 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

An'  there's  only  a  few  children  in  the  village  that's  good 
enough  for  her  to  play  with,  an'  then  only  under  the  eye 
of  Mrs.  Coles.  Why,  I  called  there  one  day  several 
years  ago  to  get  some  medicine,  an'  it  happened  there 
was  so  many  patients  in  the  office  ahead  of  me  that  the 
hired  girl  took  me  into  the  sittin'  room.  Mrs.  Coles  was 
there  workin'  on  some  embroidery,  an'  Alison,  as  round 
an'  rosy  as  you  please,  set  rockin'  in  her  little  rockin' 
chair,  an'  lookin'  at  a  picture  book.     Bimeby  she  sneezed. 

"'Oh,  darlin','  Mrs.  Coles  called  out,  as  scared  as 
if  she'd  seen  a  ghost,  'please  move  over  to  this  high- 
backed  chair.  Mamma's  so  afraid  you'll  take  more  cold 
in  that  little  rockin'  chair.  There's  no  protection  toit. ' 
Honest,  Dorothy,  I  had  to  laugh.  An'  that's  the  way 
they  go  on  about  her  the  whole  endurin'  time.  I  don't 
suppose  they'll  like  the  idea  of  your  bein'  in  these  parts." 
Here  she  regarded  me  with  careful  scrutiny.  ' '  You  two 
girls  don't  look  alike  a  bit.  You're  your  father  all 
over  again,  an'  Alison,  as  far  as  I  can  see — an'  I  have 
eyed  her  pretty  close  at  times — don't  favor  any  of  her 
folks."  There  was  a  pause,  and  then  she  asked,  "Are 
■you  goin'  there  to  call  when  they  get  back?" 

The  question  took  me  off  my  guard.  "Why,  no,"  I 
said.     ' '  Of  course  not. ' ' 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Shelling  rejoined  a  little  testily,  "she's 
your  sister,  an'  I  should  think  you'd  want  to  see  her. " 

I  made  no  reply,  and  she  repeated  the  remark. 

"Mrs.  Shelling,"  I  said  at  last,  "it  isn't  a  question  of 
what  I  want. ' ' 

"You  don't  need  to  have  any  false  modesty  about  in- 
troducin'  yourself,"  she  insisted.  "You're  better  bom 
than  the  whole  brood  of  Coleses.  Everybody  hereabouts 
knows  that  some  of  the  best  blood  in  this  country  runs 
in  the  veins  of  your  father's  folks. " 

"Then  here's  a  chance  for  me  to  prove  it,"  I  replied, 
and  as  soon  as  possible  I  bade  Mrs.  Shelling  adieu. 


24 


CHAPTER  VII 
PHILIP  AND  ALISON 

FOR  the  next  few  months,  outwardly  I  pursued  an 
uneventful  way,  but  my  inner  life  was  full  of 
turbulence.  The  earlier  loneliness  at  grandfather's 
seemed  insignificant  in  comparison  with  the  desolation  I 
now  felt.  What  it  meant  that  Alison  was  being  brought 
up  in  ignorance  of  her  birth  dawned  upon  me  now,  and 
I  vowed  a  solemn  vow  that  she  should  never  know  of  our 
relationship  through  me ;  nor  should  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Coles 
have  just  cause  to  suspect  me  of  any  wish  to  change  the 
plans  which  they  had  made  for  her;  furthermore,  I 
would  keep  my  distance  from  every  one  who  had  known 
our  family.  So  far  as  possible  I  would  efface  myself: 
Alison  should  have  her  chance  in  life.  But  for  me  the 
interview  with  Mrs.  Shelling  changed  the  universe. 

After  that  interview,  I  tried  not  to  think  of  Alison,  or 
at  least  tried  to  think  of  her  as  in  the  far-off  region  of 
the  dead — as  some  one  I  had  loved  and  lost,  whose  mem- 
ory would  always  be  a  benediction.  But  this  didn't 
work  out  well,  for  I  saw  her  frequently — at  a  distance  to 
be  sure,  but  very  plainly — as  she  drove  about  with  Dr. 
Coles.  And  then  such  waves'  of  loneliness  and  longing 
T^uld  sweep  over  me  as  now  seem  prophetic  of  what  was 
to  come. 

For  college  in  itself  I  cared  nothing ;  but  I  realized 
that  what  is  called  "an  education"  was  my  best  prepara- 
tion for  a  life  of  self-support;  in  fact,  preparation  was 
itself  handicapped  by  the  immediate  need  to  earn ;  and, 
for  a  part  of  each  undergraduate  year  except  the  last, 
3  25 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

I  was  away  from  Manchester  teaching  district  school 
and  keeping  up,  more  or  less,  with  my  own  class  work 
meanwhile.  An  indifferent  scholar  myself,  I  seemed  to 
have  the  knack  of  making  others  learn;  at  any  rate, 
there  was  no  lack  of  opportunity.  I  taught  three  terms 
of  district  school  in  my  first  three  years  in  college.  The 
faculty,  however,  had  long  since  decreed  that  no  student 
should  be  absent  from  the  university  during  senior  year. 
Accordingly  when  that  period  arrived,  I  bestirred  myself 
in  Manchester,  and  secured  some  regular  reporting  for 
a  local  newspaper,  for  which,  from  time  to  time,  I  had 
written  heretofore,  and  also  coached  a  delinquent  gram- 
mar-school pupil  with  whose  attitude  toward  lessons  I 
could  fully  sympathize. 

But  I  am  getting  ahead  of  my  story,  and  must  return 
to  freshman  year.  It  was  about  the  middle  of  that  year 
that  I  was  first  conscious  of  any  vital  interest  apart  from 
Alison.  I  had  had  a  long  childhood.  Boys  had  not  been 
in  my  world  at  all,  except  at  grandfather's  as  creatures 
to  be  avoided  on  the  ground  that  they  seemed  to  know 
instinctively  that  one  was  afraid  of  dogs,  and  knowing 
this,  encouraged  all  the  stray  curs  of  the  neighborhood  to 
make  a  dive  at  one  as  one  went  back  and  forth  from 
school.     In  college,  things  were  different. 

Ours  was  a  large  class,  as  numbers  went  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Manchester,  and  the  recitation  sections  were 
not  always  identical.  At  first  I  distinguished  among 
recitation  periods,  only  by  the  mental  note,  that  some 
were  worse  than  others.  But,  from  the  beginning  of 
the  winter  term,  studying  the  Tacitus  lesson  was  less 
irksome  than  any  other  task:  by  and  by  it  grew  to  be 
decidedly  agreeable.  I  prided  myself  on  polishing  my 
translation  and  pulling  all  the  weeds  of  syntax  from  my 
little  Latin  patch,  so  that  I  went  to  that  one  class  as 
letter-perfect  as  the  greatest  grind.  And  the  hour  that 
we  spent  there  from  four  o'clock  till  five  of  the  winter 
afternoon  was  the  shortest  of  the  day. 

26 


PHILIP  AND  ALISON 

On  the  bench  in  front  of  me  sat,  usually,  a  boy  whom 
I  shall  call  Philip.  I  can  see  him  now — a  dark,  slight 
boy  of  about  my  own  age,  who  came  to  college  with  a 
reputation  for  high  scholarship  acquired  in  one  of  New 
England's  best  known  secondary  schools.  One  afternoon 
Philip  was  not  in  his  place  when  I  stole  into  mine ;  how- 
ever it  was  early  yet,  and  opening  my  Tacitus,  I  went 
over  a  difficult  passage  in  the  text,  while,  singly  or  in 
groups,  members  of  the  class  trooped  in.  I  read  the 
text  twice  through,  but  couldn't  have  told  a  word  of  it 
Unconsciously,  I  was  listening  for  Philip's  voice  out  in 
the  hall.     But  there  was  no  sound  of  it. 

Finally,  the  hum  of  conversation  ceased ;  a  bell  rang 
wamingly;  Professor  Tilotson  began  to  speak.  At  this 
I  looked  up  indignantly.  What  did  he  mean,  I  asked 
myself,  by  beginning  now  when  nobody  was  there?  The 
bell  was  tolling  by  this  time,  and  suddenly  I  heard  a  step 
upon  the  stairs,  then  some  one  hurrying  through  the  hall, 
then  the  opening  of  the  class-room  door.  I  breathed  a 
quick  sigh  of  relief  and  forgave  Professor  Tilotson.  The 
class-room  was  no  longer  empty.     Philip  had  arrived. 

But  it  wasn't  Philip,  after  all.  Something  kept  me 
from  turning  round  to  look,  but  presently  a  boy,  to  whose 
existence  I  never  gave  a  thought,  advanced  into  the 
range  of  vision,  and  took  his  customary  seat  by  the  win- 
dow clear  across  the  room.  Then  I  strained  my  ears  to 
catch  a  sound  of  other  steps,  but  the  silence  was 
unbroken  save  by  the  droning  of  the  students  and  the 
questioning  and  comment  of  Professor  Tilotson.  It 
seemed  to  me  the  hour  would  never  end.  And  when  the 
bell  did  ring  at  last,  it  brought  me  no  release  from  a 
sense  of  shame,  the  memory  of  which  is  even  now  so 
poignant  that  it  is  difficult  to  write  of  it. 

My  ideas  of  the  relations  of  the  sexes  had  been 
founded  on  an  occasional  maxim  from  Aunt  Jane  to  the 
effect  that  a  girl  who  had  any  inclination  for  the  society 
of  boys  was  more  than  likely  to  come  to  some  bad  end, 

27 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

while  a  girl  who  * '  ran  after' '  boys  or,  unasked,  evinced 
any  interest  in  them,  was  already  started  on  the  down- 
ward path.  It  was  not  a  subject  that  was  often  referred 
to,  but  the  gist  of  such  teaching  as  I  had  had  was  that 
one  should  recognize  marriage  in  general  as  a  sacrament 
of  the  church,  and  an  institution  of  the  human  race ;  but 
to  think  of  marriage  in  particular,  to  look  forward  to  it 
as  a  pleasing  possibility  in  one's  own  life,  was  something 
no  right-minded  girl  would  be  guilty  of. 

This  was  also  the  impression  gleaned  from  the  few 
novels  I  read  at  grandfather's:  three-volume  romances 
they  were,  the  fiction  of  an  earlier  generation,  which,  at 
times,  I  resurrected  from  the  attic  tomb  to  while  away  the 
tedium  of  rainy  afternoons.  Invariably  the  heroines  of 
those  tales  busied  themselves  with  the  sampler  and  the 
harpsichord,  and  were  surprised  almost  to  the  point  of 
swooning  when  a  suitor  declared  himself ;  indeed,  it  was 
only  after  many  repulses  and  long  parleyings  in  stilted 
speech  that  he  was  finally  accepted ;  and,  in  token  thereof, 
was  allowed,  on  bended  knee,  to  kiss  the  fair  one's  hand. 
All  this  may  or  may  not  have  been  literature :  it  certainly 
was  not  life.  I  read  but  few  of  these  romances,  for  I 
found  them  very  tiresome,  though  I  took  for  granted  that 
the  picture  they  presented  of  the  grown-up  world  was 
true.  But  I  was  only  a  child — a  child  who  had  no  cu- 
riosity concerning  the  life  of  men  and  women,  but 
beguiled  her  solitude  by  dreaming  of  the  distant  sister 
who  would  some  day  be  near. 

Now,  however,  everything  was  changed.  The  long 
childhood  was  ended.  Alison  was  no  nearer  than  be- 
fore ;  on  the  contrary,  she  was  more  remote  than  ever, 
for  I  had  come  to  understand  how  impossible  of  fulfill- 
ment were  the  hopes  I  had  indulged ;  and  the  discovery 
that  the  charm  of  Tacitus  recitation  was  owing  solely  to 
a  boy,  was  tantamount  to  conviction  of  immodesty.  By 
the  light  of  that  day's  discovery  I  saw  that  I  had  de- 
ceived myself,  attributing  to  zeal  in  lessons  an  incentive 

28 


PHILIP  AND  ALISON 

springing  from  another  source.  It  would  have  been  bad 
enough,  I  reasoned,  to  be  so  deeply  interested  in  a  boy 
who  was  interested  in  me;  but  Philip  disapproved  of 
co-eds,  and  ignored  us  all ;  to  me  he  had  never  spoken 
more  than  a  dozen  words,  and  those  only  of  necessity, 
while  I  was  lavishing  on  him  all  my  thought.  It  was 
not,  however,  wounded  vanity  that  smote  me ;  it  was  the 
belief  that  I  was  guilty  of  something  unworthy  and  un- 
womanly. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ONE   CO-ED'S   ORDEAL 

FROM  that  day  I  struggled  against  the  thought  of 
Philip  as  if  it  were  a  sin.  A  sin !  When  I  know 
now  that  nothing  ever  was  more  free  from  any 
taint  of  wrong.  Deprived  of  the  natural  channels  of 
family  affection,  instinctively,  unknowingly,  I  had  built 
up  an  ideal  of  all  the  virtues  and  given  it  Philip's  name. 
That  the  real  boy  bore  little  resemblance  to  the  hero 
whom  I  secretly  adored  no  one  could  have  convinced 
me  at  that  time,  nor  does  later  knowledge  render  the 
experience  less  significant.  At  sixteen,  people  are  what 
we  think  they  are;  and  the  slender,  brown-haired  boy 
who  sat  on  the  bench  in  front  of  me  in  Tacitus  class  was 
the  noblest  creature  in  the  world. 

As  time  went  on,  the  influence  of  this  ideal  increased. 
The  struggle  to  cast  it  out  only  intrenched  it  more  se- 
curely still,  and  quickened  the  impulse  to  concealment 
which  had  always  guided  me  in  reference  to  Alison.  I 
never  went  to  class  without  steeling  myself  against  dis- 
appointment, should  Philip  not  be  there;  nor,  on  the 
other  hand,  against  disclosure  of  the  joy  his  presence 
gave.  I  was  constantly  on  guard  lest  some  one  should 
surprise  me  looking  at  him.  When  his  name  was  men- 
tioned in  the  girls'  reading-room  or  any  place  where  the 
co-eds  congregated,  I  was  ever  vigilant  lest  some  word  of 
mine,  some  glance,  something  in  my  voice  should  betray 
me  to  them  all.  I  tried  to  train  myself  to  receive  com- 
posedly any  news  about  him  any  time  and  anywhere. 

Invitations  came  to  me  in  college,  as  they  come  to 
30 


ONE  CO-ED'S  ORDEAL 

any  girl,  but  for  the  most  part  I  declined  them — from 
only  one  source  would  they  have  been  welcome,  I 
remember  one  evening,  however,  going  to  the  theater 
with  a  classmate  who  had  been  with  Philip  in  preparatory 
school;  that  fact,  indeed,  constituted  the  young  man's 
only  merit  in  my  sight,  and  I  accepted  the  invitation  in 
the  hope  that  I  could  make  him  talk  about  those  pre- 
paratory school  days.  He  did  until  the  curtain  rose; 
then  I  tried  to  interest  myself  in  the  comedy  enacted  on 
the  stage,  but  soon  Philip  himself  and  a  "town  girl" — 
as  differentiated  from  a  "co-ed"  in  local  society — entered 
the  theater  a  little  late  and  were  ushered  into  seats  a  few 
rows  ahead  of  us.  After  that  evening  I  found  it  easier 
to  remain  at  home. 

Had  my  attitude  toward  Philip  differed  in  no  way 
from  my  attitude  toward  the  other  boys,  I  might  easily 
have  known  him  better  than  I  ever  did.  Despite  his 
disapproval  of  co-eds,  he  could  scarcely  have  refused  an 
appeal  for  help  with  some  puzzling  "original"  in  geom- 
etry had  I  made  such  appeal  on  any  of  the  frequent  occa- 
sions when  I  chanced  upon  him  studying  in  the  college 
library ;  but  I  could  no  more  have  made  such  appeal  them 
if  we  had  been  thousands  of  miles  apart.  With  the 
other  boys  indeed  it  was  my  policy  to  let  them  make 
such  overtures  as  were  to  be  made,  but  with  them  at 
least  I  could  be  natural.  A  normal  acquaintance  with 
Philip  might  have  banished  any  tenderer  feeling  on  my 
part,  but  this  is  not  a  story  of  what  might  have  been :  it 
is  a  chronicle  of  truth.  I  felt  that  under  the  circum- 
stances the  only  way  to  saVe  my  self-respect  was  never  to 
encroach  on  Philip's  territory,  but  to  stand  fast  on  my 
own  ground. 

The  dividing  lines  were  clearly  drawn.  In  the  uni- 
versity feeling  ran  high  between  those  young  men  who 
approved  of  co-education,  and  those  who  objected  to  the 
presence  of  the  girls.  Philip  belonged  to  the  objectors : 
to  any  co-ed  individually  he  was  courteous  enough,  if 

31 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

circumstances  compelled  him  to  take  cognizance  of  her, 
but  he  had  no  liking  for  us  collectively. 

Many  of  the  girls  resented  this,  but  I  secretly  sym- 
pathized with  his  sentiments.  I  didn't  believe  in  co- 
education myself  when  I  found  out  what  it  meant.  At 
grandfather's  the  University  of  Manchester  had  been  to 
me  an  institution  hallowed  by  the  associations  of  my 
father's  family.  It  was  near  Alison,  and  it  was  the  only 
place  I  knew.  In  high  school  I  had  found  no  hostility 
between  the  boys  and  girls,  and  I  never  thought  that 
conditions  would  be  different  in  the  university;  in  fact,  I 
never  thought  of  it  at  all,  and  never  heard  the  word 
"co-ed' '  until  I  went  to  college.  There  the  entire  student 
body  assembled  in  chapel  every  morning,  and  the  girls 
sat  up  in  front ;  at  the  conclusion  of  the  exercises  it  was 
customary  for  us  to  file  out  first,  while  the  young  men 
awaited  with  more  or  less  decorum  our  departure  from 
the  hall.  That  long  march  to  the  door  with  the  sense  of 
being  under  the  scrutiny  of  hostile  eyes  was  an  ordeal 
from  which  I  always  shrank. 

Then  the  question  naturally  rises,  "Why  did  I  re- 
main?" Women's  colleges  were  numerous:  why  not  go 
to  one  of  them  ?  The  answer  is  found  in  my  inexperience 
and  poverty.  I  was  fifteen  and  a  half  years  old  when  I 
entered  college.  I  found  it  hard  enough  to  work  my 
way  in  Manchester  where  I  was  known  to  some  extent 
and  soon  secured  a  foothold.  Ignorant  of  how  or  where 
to  obtain  another  opening,  I  groped  on  blindly  where 
I  was. 

My  conviction  that  the  co-education  of  the  sexes  was 
unwise  deepened  every  term,  but  I  rarely  voiced  my 
sentiments,  feeling  that  they  would  come  with  poor  grace 
from  one  who  was  herself  a  co-ed.  A  sense  of  loyalty  to 
the  institution  where  I  was  being  trained  for  the  big  job 
of  life  restrained  me  from  criticizing  anything  in  her 
policy;  furthermore,  I  could  not  tell  to  what  extent  an 
unhappy  personal  experience  tinged  my  view  of  co-edu- 

32 


ONE  CO-ED'S  ORDEAL 

cation  as  a  whole.  Accordingly  I  held  my  peace,  save  on 
ofie  occasion  which  is  indelibly  engraved  on  the  page  of 
memory. 

It  was  in  junior  year  and  the  ever-smouldering  hostil- 
ity between  the  sexes  had  been  stirred  into  fresh  flame  by 
the  conduct  of  a  few  hot-headed  freshmen  boys  whose 
antagonism  to  the  college  girls  had  led  them  into  flagrant 
breaches  of  etiquette  for  which  a  few  equally  hot-headed 
girls  had  demanded  public  apology.  The  apology  was 
not  forthcoming,  but  right  on  the  heels  of  this  incident 
occurred  the  class  elections  of  the  under  classes,  and  a 
meeting  to  choose  a  board  of  editors  for  a  new  weekly 
soon  to  be  issued  by  the  student  body.  Many  of  the 
girls  absented  themselves  from  the  class  elections,  and 
the  few  who  did  attend  were  hissed  in  freshman  meeting. 
However,  adopting  the  attitude  of  martyrs  they  remained 
until  adjournment,  when  they  carried  to  the  absentees  a 
full  report  of  what  was  done.  Not  only  were  the  co-eds 
unrepresented  in  any  office  of  either  class,  but  the  new 
officers  were  conspicuously  antagonistic  to  the  girls,  and 
one  of  the  hot-headed  freshmen  whose  recent  slogan  had 
been  "No  Apology" — himself  the  son  of  the  owner  of 
the  newspaper  whose  circulation  was  the  greatest  of  any 
journal  in  the  State — was  chosen  to  the  editorial  board  of 
the  new  weekly. 

This  it  seems  the  co-eds  looked  upon  as  the  last  straw, 
and  I  found  out  later  that  they  especially  resented  it  in 
view  of  my  own  connection  with  the  local  press,  though 
at  the  time  I  knew  nothing  of  this  fact,  and  regarded  the 
whole  matter  with  little  interest ;  indeed,  had  the  position 
been  offered  me  without  one  dissenting  voice  it  would 
have  been  declined,  for  I  had  neither  the  time  nor  the 
inclination  to  attempt  something  for  which  I  knew  my- 
self to  be  unfitted.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  weekly  never 
materialized.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  this 
story. 

One  morning  while  excitement  was  at  fever  heat,  I 
33 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

entered  the  co-eds'  reading-room  in  the  main  building, 
and  was  greeted  with  shouts  of  welcome  from  the  half 
a  dozen  sophomores  who  were  already  there. 

* '  Much — obliged — to — you, ' '  they  chorused,  lingering 
on  each  word ;  then  one  of  them  who  was  a  head  taller 
than  I,  and  several  years  older  too,  patted  me  on  the 
shoulder  approvingly.  "Such  a  nice  little  junior  lady," 
she  averred. 

Before  I  could  find  voice  to  ask  what  it  was  all  about, 
a  couple  of  freshman  girls  excitedly  walked  in.  "Say, 
Miss  Baldwin,  you're  the  stuff,"  exclaimed  one  of  them 
as  she  shook  hands  with  me.  And  the  other,  waving  a 
copy  of  the  morning  newspaper  in  the  direction  of  some 
boys  who  loitered  on  the  campus,  muttered,  "I  guess 
that'll  hold  'em  for  awhile." 

I  sank  into  a  chair  and  gazed  around  me  in  bewilder- 
ment. "Well,  girls,"  I  said,  "you  may  know  what  you 
mean  yourselves,  but  I  haven't  the  least  idea." 

For  answer  one  of  them  thrust  into  my  hands  a  copy 
of  the  newspaper  and  these  headlines  stared  me  out  of 
countenance:  "Co-ed  Attacks  the  Boys!  Taxation  without 
Representation!  Scathing  Denunciation  of  the  Way  They 
Do  Things  at  the  University  ! ' ' 

With  flaming  cheeks  I  read  the  article.  It  was  signed 
"Invicta;"  the  writer  displayed  remarkable  acquaintance 
with  the  language  of  invective,  heaping  scorn  and  ridi- 
cule upon  the  college  boys  and  repaying  with  interest  all 
the  insults  which  she  claimed  had  been  offered  to  the 
women  students  of  the  university.  The  "injustice"  of 
the  treatment  to  which  it  was  alleged  co-eds  were  sub- 
jected, she  attributed  to  the  influence  of  "vulgar  up- 
starts" in  the  student  body,  who  themselves  the  sons 
of  "nouveau  riche  papas,"  looked  down  upon  the 
co-eds  as  social  inferiors;  in  conclusion,  the  writer  ap- 
pealed to  the  public  spirit  of  the  community  to  see  to  it 
that  conditions  were  altered  speedily,  and  the  offenders 
ostracized. 

34 


ONE  CO-ED'S  ORDEAL 

The  article  was  half  a  column  long,  every  word  of  it 
written  by  a  pen  dipped  in  gall ;  each  new  paragraph,  as  I 
read  it  with  the  other  girls  looking  on,  deepened  the  loath- 
ing which  the  first  sight  of  the  headlines  had  inspired. 
It  was  horrible  enough  to  be  suspected  by  any  one  of 
having  written  such  an  article,  but  uppermost  in  my 
mind  was  a  sickening  sense  of  Philip's  scorn.  If  the 
girls  knew  me  so  little  as  to  believe  I  wrote  the  article, 
what  must  Philip  think? 

Meanwhile  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  hearing  snatches 
of  excited  conversation  in  the  hall ;  then  the  door  opened 
to  admit  a  bevy  of  co-eds  whose  voices  were  pitched  high. 
Something  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  hushed  them 
instantly,  and  they  stood  silent  like  the  rest,  till  I  handed 
back  the  newspaper  to  the  sophomore  who  had  given  it 
to  me.  She  kissed  me.  Then  a  senior,  who  was  the  usual 
spokesman  of  us  all  on  occasions  of  formality,  stepped 
forward ;  the  others  fell  back  a  little. 

' '  I  propose  a  vote  of  thanks  to  Dorothy, ' '  said  the 
senior,  her  voice  tense  with  feeling.  "To  the  girl  who 
has  expressed  the  sentiments  of  every  one  of  us. ' ' 

"Oh,  don't,"  I  cried.  But  several  enthusiasts  had 
already  seconded  the  motion,  and  the  vote  was  carried 
with  applause. 

The  senior,  smiling,  turned  to  me  with,  "You're  far 
too  modest,  Dorothy, ' ' 

I  have  never  been  able  to  make  out  why  the  girls  so 
misunderstood  me  at  that  time.  It  would  seem  that 
such  genuine  emotion,  such  humiliation  as  I  experienced 
would  carry  conviction  anjrwhere;  the  only  explanation 
I  can  find  is  tha>  the  girls,  accustomed  to  think  of  me  as 
the  only  one  among  them  who  wrote  for  the  newspapers, 
were  so  convinced  in  their  own  minds  that  I  was  the 
author  of  the  article,  and  were  so  jubilant  concerning 
the  article  itself,  as  to  be  oblivious  of  evidence  laid  open 
to  their  eyes.  It  is  well  known  that  the  blindest  persons 
are  those  who  will  not  see. 

36 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

But  now  I  found  my  voice,  "You're  mistaken,"  I 
declared,  dashing  away  the  tears.  "I  didn't  write  it. 
My  sentiments  are  as  far  from  that, ' '  I  pointed  to  the 
article,  '  *  as — as  the  east  is  from  the  west. ' '  Then  it 
was  their  turn  to  be  surprised.     I  fled  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER   IX 
UNDERGRADUATE  MILESTONES 

WHERE  to  go  I  did  not  know.  Conscious  only  of 
the  impulse  to  get  away,  I  went  out  on  the 
campus,  and  there,  attracted  by  the  cool  splash- 
ing of  the  fountain,  seated  myself  on  the  coping  that 
ran  around  its  base,  reached  down  into  the  basin,  and 
bathed  my  hot  cheeks. 

Presently  a  bell  rang.  I  had  lost  all  sense  of  time, 
but  had  a  vague  impression  that  I  was  due  at  a  lecture 
somewhere;  however,  I  recalled  that  I  needn't  hurry.  If 
I  went  in  late,  so  much  the  better:  that  would  prevent 
further  question  or  comment  by  the  girls.  This  was 
what  I  told  myself.  But,  all  the  time,  I  knew  it  was 
Philip  only  I  was  thinking  of. 

Slowly  I  walked  back  to  recitation  hall,  meeting  no 
one  on  the  way.  As  I  went  upstairs,  I  realized  it  was 
only  the  first  bell  I  had  heard.  Still  I  might  as  well  go 
on :  the  interval  before  the  lecture  must  be  spent  some- 
where. As  I  opened  the  class-room  door  and  stepped 
inside,  sudden  silence  fell  on  a  group  of  young  men,  who 
were  talking  together  in  low  tones.  To  me  the  silence 
was  eloquent ;  furthermore,  Philip,  who  had  been  facing 
me  when  I  came  into  the  room,  now — with  what  seemed 
to  me  a  deliberate  movement — turned  his  back. 

In  that  lecture  hour  I  made  no  pretense  of  taking 
notes,  but  sat  staring  at  the  floor.  When  we  were  dis- 
missed, I  kept  my  seat,  for  I  saw  that  Philip  lingered  to 
speak  to  the  professor.  Then  while  they  were  still  con- 
versing after  everybody  else  had  gone,  I  went  over  to  the 

37 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

blackboard  near  the  door,  and,  toying  with  some  chalk, 
waited  for  Philip  to  pass  by.  As  he  did  so,  pausing  to 
let  the  professor  precede  him  through  the  door,  timidly  I 
spoke  his  name. 

There  was  no  response :  Philip  followed  the  professor 
down  the  hall.  I  didn't  know  whether  he  had  heard  me 
or  not,  but  raising  my  voice  I  called  to  him  again.  By 
this  time  he  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs.  He 
looked  up  and  said,  "  Do  I  flatter  myself  you  spoke  to 
me,  Miss  Baldwin  ?' ' 

"I  did." 

Immediately  he  retraced  his  steps.  In  the  doorway 
I  awaited  him,  my  clasped  fingers  twisting  restlessly.  I 
had  never  been  alone  with  him  before. 

Trying  to  speak  very  slowly  and  to  make  my  voice 
sound  matter-of-fact,  though  I  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot,  I  told  him  I  understood  there  was  a  general 
impression  in  college  that  I  wrote  "that  awful  article." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Philip.  "That  screed 
in  the  Press  this  morning?" 

I  nodded.  "I  didn't,  Mr.  Force,"  said  I.  "And  I 
couldn't  bear  to  have — anybody — think  I  did." 

Philip  laughed.  "Is  that  all?  I  supposed  you  had 
lost  the  last  friend  you  had  on  earth.  Why,  Miss  Bald- 
win, none  of  the  fellows  ever  thought  you  wrote  it. ' ' 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  I  breathed  in  accents 
of  relief  as  we  went  downstairs.  At  the  door  of  the 
girls'  reading-room  I  said  good-by,  feeling,  as  I  crossed 
the  threshold,  that  I  had  lived  a  lifetime  since  I  was 
there  before. 

In  the  autumn  of  my  senior  year,  the  "Women's  Prize 
Reading' '  was  inaugurated,  and  the  committee  on  rhet- 
oricals  chose  me  for  one  of  the  eight  competitors.  The 
hall  was  crowded  to  suffocation,  but  in  the  sea  of  faces 
that  confronted  me  as  I  stepped  upon  the  platform,  I  saw 
only  two :  Philip  was  looking  down  unconcernedly  from 
the  first  row  in  the  gallery,  and  in  the  center  of  the 

38 


UNDERGRADUATE  MILESTONES 

house  sat  Alison.  She  was  accompanied  by  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Coles,  and  their  presence  was  occasioned  by  the 
fact  that  a  niece  of  Dr.  Coles's  took  part.  When  I  began 
to  speak  I  couldn't  have  told  whether  I  was  saying  the 
words  I  had  rehearsed  or  not ;  they  sounded  to  my  own 
ears  meaningless.  All  I  knew  was  that  the  boy  up  in 
the  gallery  and  the  girl  half-way  to  the  door  were  listen- 
ing. Afterward,  when  the  committee  gave  me  the  first 
prize,  all  I  remember  is  my  feeling  that  it  was  valueless, 
because  it  meant  nothing  to  the  boy  up  in  the  gallery 
and  to  the  girl  who  was  being  hurried  from  the  hall. 

Those  two  between  them  made  up  my  world.  All  I 
wanted — so  it  seemed  to  me — was  to  be  of  use,  of  help 
to  them.  They  were  both  better  circumstanced  than  I, 
but  I  knew  that  no  one's  life  is  unmixed  joy.  Their 
pleasures  I  did  not  covet ;  but  it  was  exclusion  in  its  bit- 
terest sense  to  be  shut  out  from  their  griefs.  Gradually 
my  emotion  was  raised  to  the  religious  plane.  Above 
all  the  dear  human  relationships  was  a  Heavenly  Father  : 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  tumults  was  the  quiet  Mind  of 
God.  What  I  wanted  I  could  not  have,  then  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  make  the  best  of  conditions  I  was 
powerless  to  change.  "Not  happiness,"  said  our  pro- 
fessor in  philosophy,  ' '  but  worthiness  to  be  happy  is  the 
highest  good. ' '  This  attitude  I  did  not  reach  soon,  nor 
did  I  hold  to  it  consistently,  but  the  glimpses  that  I 
sometimes  caught,  helped  me  to  steer  straight  my  course 
through  the  perils  of  uncharted  seas. 


CHAPTER  X 
WHERE  TO  GO? 

ONE  raw,  gusty  afternoon  in  senior  spnng,  the  late 
spring  of  the  north  country,  I  was  descending  the 
steps  of  the  public  library  building  on  Chapel 
Street,  when  I  met  Mr.  Kane,  the  Superintendent  of 
Schools  in  Manchester.  His  office  was  in  the  library  build- 
ing, and,  stopping  me  on  the  steps,  he  asked  me  to  return 
with  him  to  his  office. 

' '  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you, ' '  he  said. 

In  the  office — a  dusty,  overcrowded  place — he  re- 
moved a  pile  of  music  books  and  charts,  and  placed  a 
chair  for  me  beside  his  desk.  When  I  had  seated  myself, 
he  dropped  into  his  own  old  padded  office  chair,  and 
turned  to  me  with  his  characteristic  kindly  look.  All  the 
school  children,  all  the  college  students  in  Manchester, 
looked  up  to  Mr.  Kane.  He  was  Treasurer  of  the  Uni- 
versity, as  well  as  Superintendent  of  Schools  and  a  friend 
to  every  one. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  next  year?"  Mr.  Kane 
inquired. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "I  have  registered  in 
a  teachers'  agency  in  Boston,  but  nothing  has  turned  up 
yet." 

"What  would  you  say,"  Mr.  Kane  held  some  memo- 
randa in  his  hand,  and  with  them  lightly  tapped  the 
edge  of  his  desk,  "to  a  position  here  in  the  grammar 
school?" 

"Why — why,"  I  stammered,  "I  never  thought  of  it 
before.     It's  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Kane." 

40 


WHERE  TO  GO? 

This  he  waived  aside.  "Not  at  all.  We're  looking 
out  for  the  welfare  of  the  school.  The  board  hasn't  for- 
gotten your  work  last  winter  as  substitute."  Then  he 
spoke  of  salary.  "The  position  of  second  assistant 
doesn't  pay  much  the  first  year.  But  you  couldn't  get  a 
large  salary  anywhere  without  more  experience  than  you 
have  had.     Three  terms  of  district  school,  is  it?" 

I  nodded. 

"Besides,  you're  very  young,  and  it  seems  to  me  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  you  when  you  graduate  to 
start  in  teaching  in  a  place  where  you  are  known. ' ' 

"Yes,"  I  said,  musingly,  "that's  so." 

Mr.  Kane  wheeled  round  in  his  chair.  "Well,  you 
think  it  over  for  a  day  or  so,  and  then  if  you're  still  of 
the  same  mind,  come  in  and  sign  the  contract.  In  the 
meantime,  I  shall  not  consider  anybody  else  for  the 
position."  After  a  few  more  words  on  both  sides,  he 
smilingly  bowed  me  out. 

I  started  for  my  boarding  place  full  of  gratitude  that 
the  future — the  next  year  at  least — was  provided  for. 
The  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet  in  college  had 
been  arduous ;  to  be  sure  there  had  been  little  trouble  in 
finding  employment  of  some  sort,  but  neither  reporting 
for  the  newspapers,  nor  tutoring  was  well  paid ;  anyway, 
studying  left  small  margin  of  time  to  earn.  I  have  said 
that  I  was  in  no  sense  a  student,  but  to  get  through  col- 
lege on  any  terms  implies  some  attention  to  the  curricu- 
lum. 

"But  now,"  I  thought,  "that  will  soon  be  over  with, 
and  I  can  give  all  my  time  to  one  thing.  And  I  will — 
oh,  I  will — make  a  success  of  it.  And  then  when  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Coles  hear  that  I'm  successful  and  that  my  conduct 
is  irreproachable,  perhaps  they  won't  object  to  my  know- 
ing Alison. ' ' 

Deep  in  this  vein  of  thought,  I  was  half-way  up  the 
hill  on  Chestnut  Street  when  Mrs.  Shelling,  who  from  a 
street-car  had  caught  sight  of  me,  alighted  from  the  car, 
4  41 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

and  called  to  me.  The  very  sight  of  Mrs.  Shelling  was 
odious  to  me :  whatever  she  said  to  me  was  always  sure 
to  hurt.  As  much  as  possible  I  avoided  her,  but  now  an 
interview  was  inevitable. 

She  greeted  me  with  a  rebuke  that  I  had  not  been  to 
see  her  all  the  year,  and  then  demanded,  as  one  who  had 
a  right  to  know,  "What  you  goin'  to  do  when  you 
graduate?    Teach  school?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  I  replied,  vaguely,  being  of  no 
mind  to  tell  Mrs.  Shelling  of  the  talk  with  Mr.  Kane. 

"Most  likely,"  she  hazarded,  "you'll  be  lookin' 
higher  than  a  district  school  when  you're  a  college 
graduate?" 

I  smiled.  "College  graduates  have  to  take  what  they 
can  get,  I'm  told." 

"An'  I  can  tell  you  something  else,"  Mrs.  Shelling 
nodded,  and  leaned  toward  me  confidentially.  "Dr. 
Coles's  folks  can  scursely  wait  f 'r  the  day  to  come  when 
you  pack  up  an'  leave.  They  want  to  send  Alison  to 
college.  An'  she  was  all  ready  a  year  back — you  know 
she's  terrible  smart — but  they  wouldn't  send  her  while 
you  was  on  the  premises.  An'  they  wouldn't  send  her 
to  any  other  college  because  it  was  too  fur  from  home. 
What  they  really  ought  to  have,"  she  announced  ironi- 
cally, "is  a  college  in  a  glass  case,  right  out  in  their 
front  yard.  So  long  as  you're  in  Manchester  they'll 
keep  Alison  cooped  up. ' ' 

Mrs.  Shelling  would  have  detained  me  indefinitely, 
but  I  pleaded  an  engagement  and  escaped.  In  my  room 
in  the  college  boarding  house  I  paced  the  floor,  turning 
over  and  over  in  my  mind  the  bad  news  I  had  heard. 

So  I  was  in  the  way!  Standing  in  Alison's  light!  I, 
whose  only  longing  was  to  serve  my  sister,  was  even  now 
a  hindrance  to  the  advantages  her  adopted  parents  were 
eager  to  shower  upon  her.  For  a  year  past,  it  seemed,  I 
had  been  unknowingly  a  hindrance.  But  now  I  knew. 
At  once  I  determined  to  go  away  and  leave  the  coast 

42 


WHERE  TO  GO? 

clear  for  Alison.  But  where  to  go  ?  The  world  seemed 
very  wide;  and  I  didn't  belong  anywhere.  .  .  . 

' '  But  I  must  make  a  place, ' '  I  said.  Then  I  remem- 
bered the  name  of  a  teachers'  agency  in  New  York  which 
I  had  heard  many  people  say  was  more  energetic  in  find- 
ing positions  for  applicants  than  was  the  Boston  agency, 
on  whose  books  I  was  enrolled.  I  decided  that  as  soon 
as  college  closed  I  would  go  to  New  York  and  register  in 
person.  I  understood  that  an  applicant  who  was  on  the 
ground  stood  a  better  chance  than  one  at  a  distance.  I 
must  go  somewhere.  It  might  as  well  be  New  York  City 
as  any  other  place. 

And  so  having  made  up  my  mind  I  wrote  a  note  to 
Mr.  Kane,  telling  him  that  something  had  occurred  that 
would  keep  me  from  accepting  his  kind  offer  of  a  posi- 
tion in  the  grammar  school.  The  week  following  Com- 
mencement I  started  for  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XI 
MY  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

MY  first  view  of  New  York  was  intoxicating.  The 
roar  of  traffic,  the  diversity  of  street  scenes,  the 
bustle  of  the  hurrying  crowds,  never  for  an  in- 
stant bewildered  me.  I  loved  it  from  the  start.  The 
transition  from  the  quiet  college  town  where  every  street, 
every  pathway  on  the  campus,  every  recitation  hall  was 
rife  with  painful  memories  was  like  release  from  prison 
to  a  convict,  who  through  short  term  of  sentence  is  not 
yet  inured  to  bondage  and  the  clanking  of  his  chains. 
My  natural  buoyancy,  forced  to  the  background,  hereto- 
fore, now  sprang  to  the  front ;  the  spirit  of  adventure  was 
strong  within  me.  Somewhere  on  the  trip  down  from 
Manchester  Alison's  serious  sister,  Philip's  disconcerted 
classmate  disappeared;  and  in  her  stead  a  fresh-faced, 
eager  girl  stepped  from  the  train  in  the  Grand  Central 
Station  and  smiled  up  at  big,  beautiful  New  York  as  if 
discovering  a  fairy  godmother  who  waved  a  magic  wand. 

By  the  calendar  it  was  early  in  July,  otherwise  you 
would  never  have  believed  it  to  be  later  than  the  first  of 
May.  The  weather  had  been  misbehaving  for  ten  days 
before,  but  now,  repentant  and  serene,  had  donned  the 
garb  of  spring.  Not  showery,  gusty  spring,  but  balmy, 
cool,  invigorating.     The  air  was  like  champagne. 

At  this  time  I  was  nineteen  and  a  half  years  old.  All 
the  money  I  had  in  the  world  was  $17.62;  but,  for  any 
anxiety  I  experienced  on  that  score,  I  might  have  been  a 
millionaire.  For  the  baccalaureate  degree  which  I  had 
recently  acquired,  I  cared,  personally,  not  a  picayune ;  but 


MY  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

knowing  there  were  persons  who  held  such  things  in 
high  esteem,  I  recognized  the  sheepskin  as  an  asset,  and 
took  it  with  me  when  I  went  looking  for  a  job. 

The  necessity  of  soon  finding  work  caused  me  no  dis- 
quietude. Four  years  earlier  I  had  started  out  from 
grandfather's  on  a  similar  quest,  and  the  memory  of  that 
experience  probably — subconsciously — gave  me  courage 
now,  but  I  wasted  no  time  thinking  about  it.  There 
was  too  much  that  was  interesting  to  see.  All  I  remem- 
ber is  the  joy  of  making  a  little  journey  in  the  world, 
and  finding,  at  the  journey's  end,  such  delightful  pictures 
as  my  first  glimpse  of  New  York  disclosed. 

In  view  of  my  circumstances,  July  does  not  seem  an 
auspicious  time  for  entrance  into  the  metropolis ;  further- 
more, the  usual  midsummer  business  lull  was  deepened 
by  the  hazards  of  a  presidential  year.  But  no  stagna- 
tion of  any  kind  was  apparent  to  my  eyes,  as  from  the 
Grand  Central  Station  steps  I  looked  out  on  Forty-second 
Street. 

By  and  by  a  news  stand  caught  my  eye,  and  there,  in 
plain  sight,  was  the  New  York  newspaper  I  had  read 
daily  in  Manchester.  My  suit  case  was  too  heavy  to 
carry,  so  I  left  it  on  the  steps  as  confidently  as  if  I  were 
in  the  girls'  reading-room  in  college,  darted  t;hrough  the 
crowd,  threw  down  two  pennies  on  the  stand,  picked  up 
a  copy  of  the  newspaper,  and  made  my  way  back  to  the 
place  where  I  had  left  my  luggage.  A  portly  policeman, 
who,  it  turned  out,  had  been  watching  me,  was  guard- 
ing the  suit  case ;  and  he  began  to  reprove  me  for  my 
carelessness. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  I  murmured,  apologetically,  "but  I 
had  to  get  my  newspaper."  Then  I  rattled  off  the 
boarding-house  address  with  which  an  elderly  acquaint- 
ance in  Manchester  had  provided  me,  and  asked  the 
policeman  the  easiest  way  to  get  to  it. 

"Stranger  in  town,  ain't  ye?" 

I  nodded.     "Don't  know  a  soul." 
46 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"That's  what  I  thought  when  I  see  ye  runnin'  away 
from  this, ' '  with  his  stick  he  motioned  toward  the  hand 
luggage.  "Better  not  do  that  again,  or  ye' 11  be  one  suit 
case  shy. ' '  Then  he  gave  me  directions  for  reaching  my 
destination. 

The  directions  sounded  rather  complicated.  "Will 
you  please  say  that  again  ?"  I  asked,  very  earnestly. 

"Sure,"  he  laughed,  and  repeated  what  he  had  said 
before.  I  thanked  him.  At  that  he  laughed  again  and 
put  me  on  my  car. 

It  was  an  open  car,  and  full  of  such  interesting-look- 
ing people  that  I  deeply  regretted  having  to  leave  them 
so  soon.  However,  the  second  car  seemed  to  be  filled  with 
their  next  of  kin,  so  my  enjoyment  was  no  less  keen;  but 
I  had  scarcely  established  friendly  relations  with  an  Ital- 
ian woman  and  her  three  youngsters  when  the  conductor, 
to  whom  I  had  confided  my  address  on  entering  his  car, 
traveled  half-way  down  the  aisle,  and  cut  short  my  con- 
versation with  the  youngest  son  of  Italy. 

"This  is  your  comer,"  he  said.  "Go  about  half  a 
block  over  toward  Broadway. ' ' 

Then  he  cautioned  me  to ' '  mind  the  step, ' '  and  helped 
me  with  my  luggage  in  the  kindest  way.  Sometimes,  in 
the  years  since  then,  I  have  encountered  surly,  impolite 
conductors ;  but  I  can  testify  that  the  man  in  charge  of 
one  New  York  surface  car,  one  morning  in  July,  was 
Lord  Chesterfield  himself. 

The  brownstone  fronts  of  West  Twenty Street 

were  so  very  much  alike  that  I  ventured  to  climb  the 

steps  of  Number ,  only  after  careful  scrutiny.     The 

woman  in  Manchester  v^rho  had  given  me  the  address, 
had  impressed  it  upon  me  that  one  never  knew  one's 
neighbors  in  New  York;  just  as  likely  as  not,  there  was 
a  gambling  joint  next  door;  so  I  took  no  chances  when  I 

rang  the  bell  of  Number .     A  boy  in  buttons  opened 

the  door. 

At  this  period  all  the  boys  I  saw  either  looked  like 
46 


MY  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

Philip,  or  they  did  not  look  like  him.  This  one  brought 
him  vividly  to  mind,  owing  to  the  color  of  his  eyes; 
and  somewhat  awed  me,  too;  for,  owing  to  Philip's 
prominence  in  the  university  battalion,  I  was  wont  to  re- 
gard with  reverence  anything  young  that  wore  a  uniform. 
But  not  even  Philip  himself  in  all  the  refulgence  of  in- 
spection at  dress  parade  by  the  Governor  of  the  State, 
could  have  bestowed  on  a  civilian  a  more  contemptuous 
glance  than  was  now  bent  on  me,  as,  stumbling  on  the 
threshold,  I  tugged  at  my  suit  case.  The  stumbling  was 
awkward,  but  the  tugging  was  inexcusable.  It  was  my 
first  New  York  mistake.  The  boy  intimated,  by  con- 
descending gesture,  that  he  would  relieve  me  of  my  load. 
Then  I  made  my  next  mistake — I  thanked  him. 

He  smiled ;  but  not  in  the  manner  of  the  great- girthed 
officer  at  the  Grand  Central  Station,  nor  of  the  Lord 
Chesterfield  of  the  surface  car ;  still  smiling,  he  hesitated 
a  moment  as  if  deliberating  whether  to  show  me  into  the 
drawing-room  or  to  seat  me  in  the  hall.  Just  in  the 
nick  of  time,  I  atoned  for  my  mistakes  by  mentioning 
the  name  of  the  acquaintance  in  Manchester  who  had 
recommended  me  to  this  boarding  house.  She  was  a 
woman  well-to-do,  and,  in  annual  migrations  between  the 
North  and  South,  and  on  returning  from  sojourns  abroad, 
always  spent  some  weeks  in  this  boarding  house,  which 
she  much  preferred  to  a  hotel.  She  had  but  recently  left 
New  York ;  and,  on  hearing  her  name,  the  boy  in  buttons 
changed  his  manner  instantly:  with  pomp  and  ceremony 
he  ushered  me  into  the  drawing-room,  then,  with  a  defer- 
ential bow,  departed  to  announce  my  arrival  to  the  land- 
lady. 

While  awaiting  her  I  examined  my  surroundings  with 
the  eye  of  untrained  curiosity.  The  room  was  high-ceil- 
inged,  long,  and  dark;  a  green-shaded  gas  jet  burned  low 
above  a  table  at  the  farther  end.  The  place  was  crowded 
with  massive  furniture,  most  of  it  now  swathed  in  linen 
slip  covers ;  but  a  few  chairs  fresh  from  the  repair  shop, 

47 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

disclosed  blue  satin  upholstery.  Some  tapestry  of  som- 
ber hue  depicted  woodland  scenes,  and  in  a  niche  along 
the  wall,  stood  a  piece  of  statuary ;  a  couple  of  large  sized 
oil  paintings,  too,  whose  heavy  gilt  frames  seemed,  some- 
way, to  be  larger  than  themselves,  impressed  me  with  a 
sense  of  metropolitan  magnificence.  The  president's 
house  in  Manchester  held  nothing  in  the  least  degree 
like  this.  Suddenly,  I  remembered  my  $17. 55,  and  shifted 
uneasily  on  the  sofa  by  the  door. 

But  the  landlady,  coming  up  from  the  basement 
breakfast-room,  was  already  bustling  through  the  hall. 
Hearing  her  step,  I  sat  up  a  little  straighter.  After  the 
preliminary  inquiries  for.  the  woman  in  Manchester  who 
had  sent  me  to  her  house,  she  led  up  to  business.  "Do 
you  expect  to  be  in  town  all  summer  ?' ' 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said. 

"The  reason  I  ask,"  explained  the  landlady,  "is  be- 
cause it  will  make  a  difference  in  the  price.  I  keep  a 
first-class  house,  you  understand,  but  the  summer  rates 
are  very  low.  So  many  people  go  away  that  I  always 
close  the  dining-room  in  this  house  by  August  1st.  But 
I  have  a  house  opposite.  Number ,  where  the  dining- 
room  is  never  closed,  and  whoever  rooms  in  this  house 
in  summer  goes  across  the  way  to  meals. ' ' 

"But  couldn't  I  room  over  there,  too?" 

' '  Oh,  no, ' '  declared  the  landlady,  with  an  impressive 
gesture.  "All  the  rooms  in  that  house  are  taken  by  the 
year.  Very  select  parties  they  are,  too.  Been  with  me 
seven  seasons,  some  of  'em.  One  family — an  old  gentle- 
man and  his  wife — has  a  whole  floor  to  themselves. 
They've  gone  to  Europe,  now,  but  they  keep  their  rooms 
here  just  the  same,  and  they've  got  'em  filled  with  truck 
from  almost  every  country  on  the  map.  But  that's  their 
business.  They  pay  the  rent;  so  you  see  I  can't  take 
transients  over  there.  We  keep  this  house  open  as  an 
accommodation,  you  understand,  and  it'll  be  cheaper  for 
you  to  room  here  than  to  go  elsewhere.     There's  lots  of 

48 


MY  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

houses  in  this  locality  that  it  ain't  safe  for  a  young  girl 
to  step  inside  of,  but  under  my  roof  you  need  never  have 
a  fear.  Of  course,  there  won't  be  many  people  here 
right  in  the  dead  of  summer,  but  you  won't  be  alone  in 
the  house ;  at  least  not  much  of  the  time.  One  of  the 
chambermaids  from  across  the  way  takes  care  of  the 
rooms  and  fetches  over  the  ice  water  regular  every  night 
at  nine,  so,  you  see,  you'll  be  provided  for  same's  if  it 
was  the  height  of  the  season.  An'  I  can  let  you  have  a 
room  on  the  top  floor  very  cheap. ' ' 

In  response  to  inquiry  she  mentioned  the  lowest  sum- 
mer rate.  It  was  about  twice  as  much  as  I  had  expected ; 
however,  there  seemed  to  be  no  alternative,  and  I  en- 
gaged the  room. 

Then  the  boy  in  buttons  was  sent  to  show  me  up- 
stairs. The  three  long  flights  of  stairs  seemed  to  take 
me  very  near  the  sky,  and  the  hall  bedroom  seemed  very 
small  indeed ;  but,  remembering  that  $17.62  would  not  last 
long,  even  in  these  cramped  quarters,  I  laughed  at  my 
own  reflection  in  the  cracked  looking-glass  and  ran 
downstairs  to  breakfast.  The  abundance  of  the  bill  of 
fare,  and  the  novelty  of  eating  in  the  basement  of  a 
house,  occupied  me  for  some  time;  but,  presently,  with 
hat  and  suit  carefully  brushed,  I  set  out  to  find  the 
teacher's  agency  in  Union  Square,  which  had  been  rec- 
ommended to  me  in  Manchester. 

Having  found  it,  I  also  found  a  roomful  of  applicants 
for  positions  sitting  around  in  various  attitudes  of  rest- 
lessness, and  watching  furtively  a  brisk  woman  who 
darted  here  and  there,  her  every  motion  bespeaking  great 
executive  ability,  and  as  well  determination  not  to  be 
waylaid.  Occasionally  she  would  pause  before  some 
applicant  with,  "Ah,  Miss  Barry,  did  you  see  Professor 
Yates?"  Or  she  would  ward  off  some  impatient  one 
with  a  decisive,  "To  be  sure.  Miss  Caine,  but  you  should 
have  accepted  that  position  in  the  West. "  Frequently, 
she  held  conferences  in  a  room  beyond,  from  whose  door- 

49 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

way,  from  time  to  time,  she  summoned  different  candi- 
dates to  meet  school  principals.  Meantime,  her  assistants 
in  the  outer  office  did  the  best  they  could. 

One  of  them,  a  sweet-faced  girl  with  dimples,  now 
approached  me  questioningly. 

' '  I  wanted  to  see  Mrs.  Yorke, ' '  said  I. 

"Mrs.  Yorke  is  very  busy.  She  has  appointments 
right  up  to  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do?" 

I  looked  her  full  in  the  face,  and  we  both  smiled. 
"Yes,  there  is,"  I  confessed.  "I'll  wait  all  day  if  need 
be,  but  I  just  have  to  see  Mrs.  Yorke  herself.  Will  you 
let  me  have  a  word  with  her  at  the  first  opportunity?" 

"With  pleasure,  but,"  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "I'm 
afraid  it  will  be  a  long  wait. ' '  Then  she  smiled  again, 
and  nodded  toward  some  magazines  and  newspapers  on 
a  table  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

But  the  people  were  far  more  interesting  than  any 
magazine.  Particularly  did  Mrs.  [Yorke  herself  appeal  to 
me.  Wherever  she  went,  my  eyes  followed  her.  Her 
memory  for  names  and  faces  was  drawn  on  constantly ; 
she  never  faltered.  Tangled  threads  of  many  different 
narratives  were  thrust  upon  her  all  at  once ;  she  sepa- 
rated them,  and  changed  from  one  to  another  as  circum- 
stance required.  I  admired  the  way  she  talked,  and  the 
authoritative  manner  in  which  she  disposed  of  cases  that 
were  referred  to  her  for  immediate  action.  In  fact, 
everything  she  did  fascinated  me. 

At  last,  some  time  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  lull, 
and  she  came  toward  my  comer  of  the  room.  When  I 
realized  that  I  was  really  her  objective  point,  I  rose,  and 
with  shining  eyes  stood  smiling  up  at  her;  she  was  a 
large  woman,  and  gave  one  the  idea  of  tremendous 
strength. 

She  must  have  understood  how  genuine  was  my  ad- 
miration, for  she  laid  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  caressingly, 
as  she  asked,  "And  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

60 


MY  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

"I'm  waiting,"  said  I. 

"And  you've  been  waiting  for  hours.  You  certainly 
have  perseverance.     Come  into  the  other  room. ' ' 

The  other  room  was  quieter — farther  removed  from 
the  bustle  of  Broadway.  Mrs.  Yorke  motioned  me  to  a 
chair,  and  took  one  herself,  repeating  that  she  was  sorry 
to  have  kept  me  waiting  so  long. 

"It  didn't  seem  long,"  I  replied.  "I  was  watching 
you." 

She  smiled  quizzically.  "But  you  didn't  come  here  to 
watch  me?" 

"No.  I  came  for  a  position.  I  want  one  in  two 
weeks. ' ' 

Mrs.  Yorke  threw  up  her  hands.  "In  two  weeks? 
At  this  time  of  year?    Why  didn't  you  apply  before?" 

Wide-eyed,  I  looked  at  her.  "Why,  I  only  graduated 
last  Wednesday. ' ' 

"But  you  should  have  registered  six  months  ago. 
The  great  majority  of  positions  for  the  coming  school 
year  are  filled  in  the  spring  vacation.  Of  course,  vacan- 
cies do  occur  later  on,  particularly  in  September,  just 
before  the  schools  reopen,  but  there's  very  little  doing  in 
midsummer.  This  was  an  unusually  busy  day  for  this 
time  of  year,  but  even  so  almost  everybody  came  by 
appointment.  And  here  you  .say  you  want  a  position  in 
two  weeks?" 

"Mrs.  Yorke,"  said  I,  very  earnestly,  "it  isn't  simply 
that  I  ivant  a  position  in  two  weeks.  I  must  have  one 
then." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  haven't  eighteen  dollars  in  the  world." 

I  did  not  tell  nor  did  she  ask  my  name  or  my  univer- 
sity ;  she  did,  however,  ask  my  age  and  the  extent  of  my 
experience  as  teacher. 

"Coaching  for  two  years  in  college — the  last  two 
years — a  little  substituting  in  the  grammar  school,  and 
three  terms  of  district  school. ' ' 

51 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"All  right  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said  Mrs.  Yorke.  "Are 
you  a  good  disciplinarian?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Yorke.  The  question  never 
came  up. ' ' 

She  smiled.  "Did  you  ever  happen  to  teach  a  winter 
term  of  district  school  out  in  the  country?" 

I  smiled  back  at  her.  "Two  of  them.  Some  of  the 
big  boys  were  older  than  I. " 

"And  you  never  had  any  trouble?" 

' '  Only  to  keep  ahead  of  them  in  algebra, ' '  said  I. 

"But  you  did  keep  ahead  of  them?" 

"A  little  way.  Sat  up  half  the  night  to  do  it, 
though. ' ' 

"Would  you  accept  a  position  anywhere?" 

"Beggars  mustn't  be  choosers,"  I  replied.  "But — 
but — I  like  New  York  pretty  well. ' ' 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

' '  Since  this  morning. ' ' 

"Who's  with  you?" 

"Nobody." 

She  gave  me  a  shrewd  glance  from  her  gray  eyes. 
"Tell  me,  did  you  run  away  from  home?" 

Unflinchingly  I  met  her  glance,  but  my  lip  trembled 
as  I  said,  "I  haven't  any  home." 

"Suppose  we  can't  find  teaching  for  you  in  two  weeks 
— and  I  haven't  the  least  idea  we  can — will  you  do  some- 
thing else?" 

With  an  impulse  of  affection  toward  this  straightfor- 
ward, kindly  woman,  I  laid  one  hand  on  her  knee.  "I'll 
do  anything  you  tell  me  to, "  I  said. 

With  that  she  led  me  back  to  the  outer  office.  Every 
one  had  now  gone  except  the  assistant  who  had  spoken 
to  me  earlier  in  the  day.  Mrs.  Yorke  now  addressed  her 
in  her  brisk,  decisive  way. 

"Miss  Browne,  here's  a  girl  who  is  nineteen  and  a 
half  years  old.  I  don't  know  her  name  nor  where  she 
comes  from,  but  we're  going  to  keep  her  in  New  York. 

52 


MY  FIRSl'  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

Give  her  an  application -blank  to  fill  out  now,  before  she 
goes,  and  let  me  have  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. ' ' 
Turning  to  me  she  said,  "Come  in  about  noon,  to-mor- 
row. Don't  expect  anything  then,"  she  warned  me,  no- 
ticing my  hopeful  attitude,  "but  just  call  on  general 
principles.  Come  in  every  day. ' '  Then  she  picked  up 
an  armful  of  correspondence,  went  into  the  other  room, 
and  closed  the  door. 

The  application-blank  I  filled  out  with  the  greatest 
care,  paid  the  registration  fee  of  two  dollars,  blithely 
bade  Miss  Browne  ' '  au  revoir, ' '  and  mingled  with  the 
Broadway  crowds  again.  It  was  long  past  noon,  but  I 
was  too  excited  to  think  of  food ;  with  many  pauses  at 
shop  windows,  I  wandered  back  to  the  corner  of  my 
street,  and  stood  there  in  perplexity,  gazing  at  the  cable 
cars  that  were  clanging  up  and  down  Broadway.  A 
policeman  chanced  to  notice  me,  and,  approaching, 
asked,  ' '  Where  do  ye  want  to  go  ?' ' 

"Whatever  place  is  farthest  for  five  cents.  But  I 
want  to  be  back  here  by  half -past  six. ' ' 

The  policeman  told  me  to  take  a  certain  car  to  a  cer- 
tain point,  transfer  there  to  a  certain  other  car,  and  ride  to 
the  end  of  the  line.  "Do  the  same  thing  comin'  back," 
said  he,  ' '  and  that  should  land  ye  here  by  half -past  six. ' ' 

I  followed  his  instructions,  and  spent  a  most  delight- 
ful afternoon  on  the  open  cars.  All  too  soon,  I  found 
myself  again  at  the  street  comer  which  I  had  already 
designated  mine,  and  a  moment  later  was  climbing  the 
front  steps  of  the  boarding  house.  The  servant  who 
opened  the  door  said  dinner  was  in  progress ;  so  I  went 
at  once  to  the  dining-room,  where  I  was  introduced  to  the 
guests  of  the  establishment.  Most  of  them  were  women : 
none  of  them  was  young.  I  found  out  later  that  the 
occupants  of  the  landlady's  other  house  across  the  street 
dubbed  this  one  "The  Old  Ladies'  Home."  The  con- 
versation at  table  turned  on  the  summer  plans  of  the 
company. 

53 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"We're  going  to  have  another  hot  spell  soon,"  re- 
marked a  dowager.  "I  feel  it  in  my  bones.  I've  never 
been  in  town  so  late  before,  and  should  have  gone  to 
Lake  George  as  usual  if  I  could  have  had  my  old  rooms. ' ' 
She  raised  her  eyes  to  a  neighbor's  evening  newspaper. 
"There,  what  did  I  tell  you?    'Warmer  to-morrow!'  " 

Another  woman  bemoaned  the  fact  that  neither  for 
love  nor  money  could  one  get  accommodations  on  trans- 
atlantic steamers  before  the  first  of  August.  "And  I 
just  won't  stay  in  town  till  then,  with  everybody  gone," 
she  said.     "The  very  thought  of  it  gives  me  the  blues." 

A  third  woman  deplored  her  dressmaker's  deceitful- 
ness.  "And  she  promised  my  things  two  weeks  ago. 
Here  I've  stayed  on  in  the  hope  each  day  would  be  the 
last.  Three  separate  times  the  tickets  have  been 
bought. ' '  Tragically  she  looked  around  the  dining-room. 

A  placid  old  lady  now  addressed  me.  "You're  a 
brave  girl  to  face  a  New  York  summer  all  alone." 

"But  why  does  everybody  go  away?"  I  asked.  "I 
think  New  York  is  beautiful." 

"Have  you  ever  spent  a  summer  here?"  inquired 
three  women  all  at  once. 

' '  No, ' '  I  reluctantly  confessed. 

"That  explains  it,"  declared  she  who  was  the  dupe 
of  the  dressmaker.  "But  you'll  be  getting  out  yourself 
when  the  mercury  begins  to  climb. ' ' 

"Now  don't  you  frighten  the  young  lady,"  spoke  up 
an  elderly  bachelor.  "New  York  isn't  half  bad  in  sum- 
mer. There's  always  a  fine  breeze  on  the  roof  gardens. 
If  you  have  friends  in  town,  they'll  show  you  a  good 
time.  I'm  a  New  Yorker  myself" — ^his  tone  implied 
reproof  for  those  who  had  spoken  earlier — ' '  and  I  always 
stand  up  for  my  town. ' ' 

"Yes,  he  stands  not  upon  the  order  of  his  going,  but 
goes  to  Europe  for  three  months  directly  the  hot  weather 
comes, "  threw  ou*:  one  woman,  as  he  disappeared.  "I've 
known  Timothy  Odgers  twenty  years." 

54 


MY  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK 

Everybody  laughed  and  with  renewed  energy  resumed 
discussion  of  the  weather.  To  me,  however,  it  was  a 
matter  of  little  consequence.  I  was  chiefly  occupied  with 
the  wonder  of  being  in  New  York  at  all,  and  with  the 
kindness  of  every  one.  My  heart  was  full  of  gratitude 
as  I  climbed  once  more  to  my  hall  bedroom,  and  there 
reviewed  the  happenings  of  the  day. 

Mrs,  Yorke  especially  appeared  like  a  good  angel  in 
my  thought  of  her — she  had  said  they  would  keep  me  in 
New  York.  So  this  was  going  to  be  home !  This  big 
city,  this  small  room !  I  could  not  remember  any  home. 
But  with  a  sense  of  belonging  in  this  new  environment, 
I  looked  around  the  room,  making  a  mental  note  of  the 
furnishings,  and  peered  up  at  the  walls.  They  would  be 
less  bare  when  the  pictures  I  had  brought  were  hung; 
and,  as  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  would  buy  another  chair. 

On  the  bureau  lay  the  newspaper  I  had  bought  that 
morning.  That  morning!  It  seemed  centuries  since 
then.  By  the  sputtering  gas  jet  I  tried  to  read,  but  soon 
abandoned  the  attempt;  the  monotonous  rumble  of  the 
elevated  trains  over  on  Sixth  Avenue  rolled  in  through 
the  open  window,  heavy  with  soporific  influence.  The 
maid  appeared  with  ice  water,  and  let  down  the  folding- 
bed. 

As  I  said  my  prayers  that  night  Philip  and  Alison 
seemed  very,  very  far  away.  This  was  another  world. 
Wouldn't  it  be  beautiful  if  they  could  be  here,  too?  Of 
course,  I  knew  they  couldn't,  but  I  fell  asleep  wishing 
that  they  could ;  and  I  dreamed  of  transferring  from  one 
car  to  another,  where  I  saw  them  always  a  little  way 
ahead.  And  everywhere  I  went  by  dreamland  rapid 
transit,  Mrs.  Yorke  was  the  conductor;  and  she  almost 
broke  my  heart  by  chiding  me  for  losing  my  suit  case  on 
the  Grand  Central  Station  steps.  Thus  closed  my  first 
day  in  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XII 
"WOMAN  SUFFRAGE"— AND  A  JOB 

FOR  the  next  two  weeks,  according  to  instructions 
from  Mrs.  Yorke,  I  called  every  day  at  her  office 
in  Union  Square.  But  there  was  nothing  for  me. 
The  small  supply  of  money  was  dwindling  rapidly,  and 
my  spirit  of  adventure  died  a  sudden  death. 

But  hope  revived  when,  on  the  sixteenth  morning,  I 
found  at  the  breakfast  table  a  note  from  Mrs.  Yorke  tell- 
ing me  to  report  at  her  office  at  ten  o'clock  that  day. 
Prompt  to  the  minute  I  walked  in,  thinking  I  was  ready 
to  teach  school  in  China  should  that  necessity  arise. 
Mrs.  Yorke's  first  words  were  a  surprise.  "What  is 
your  attitude  toward  woman  suffrage?"  she  inquired. 

"  'Woman  suffrage?'  "  I  repeated,  blankly.  "Why,  I 
don't  believe  in  it." 

"H'm— that's  too  bad,"  mused  Mrs.  Yorke.  "In 
everything  else  you're  the  very  person  for  this  place." 

"But  since  I  couldn't  vote,  even  if  I  wanted  to — " 
I  began. 

"Yes,  I'm  coming  to  that,"  she  smiled.  "By  the 
time  you're  old  enough,  perhaps  you'll  want  to."  Then 
she  went  on  to  explain  that  a  certain  Mrs.  Grey,  a 
woman  of  wealth  and  social  prominence,  was  about  to 
start  a  society  for  improving  the  condition  of  working 
girls.  Mrs.  Grey's  husband  had  died  recently,  and  she 
purposed  to  devote  her  time  and  money  now  to  philan- 
thropy. The  plans  she  was  formulating  were  wide- 
reaching  in  their  scope,  the  methods  she  had  in  mind 
were  at  that  time  novel  in  philanthropy.     At  the  outset 

56 


"WOMAN  SUFFRAGE"— AND  A  JOB 

she  wished  to  find  some  young  woman  whom  she  could 
train  in  all  branches  of  her  work.  An  ardent  suffragist 
herself,  she  would  naturally  prefer  some  one  in  sympathy 
with  that  phase  of  her  activity. 

"However,  she  may  like  to  try  her  hand  on  you," 
laughed  Mrs.  Yorke.  "If  she  can  convince  you  of  the 
desirability  of  votes  for  women,  you'll  be  worth  a  great 
deal  to  the  cause. ' ' 

At  this  I  tossed  my  head.  Mrs.  Yorke  held  up  a 
finger,  wamingly. 

"It's  not  a  vital  matter,  anjrway,  at  this  stage.  And 
you  mustn't  quarrel  with  your  bread  and  butter." 

This  brought  up  once  more  the  money  worries  which, 
for  the  moment,  had  been  banished  by  this  unexpected 
talk.  "No,  I  can't  afford  to  do  that,"  I  said,  "but  I 
have  to  be  honest. ' ' 

"Well,  be  honest,  but  don't  be  belligerent.  There 
was  a  look  in  your  eye  when  I  said  'suffrage'  that  didn't 
argue  well  for  success  with  Mrs.  Grey.  She's  a  fine 
woman,  and  much  older  and  wiser  than  you  are.  In 
everything  but  this  you  would  be  ideal  for  her,  and  I 
shall  tell  her  so. ' '  With  that  she  sat  down  to  her  desk, 
wrote  a  note,  and  sent  me  with  it  to  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Grey. 

The  house  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue  had  every  outward 
appearance  of  being  closed  for  the  summer ;  but  when  I 
rang  the  bell,  a  care-taking  person  in  calico  let  me  into 
the  shrouded  hall,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  "Mrs.  Grey  is 
staying  in  the  country,  miss,  but  she  came  in  town  last 
night.  After  breakfast,  she  went  out  for  a  drive,  but  we 
expect  her  back  any  minute  now. ' ' 

Then,  laying  my  letter  of  introduction  on  a-  table  in 
the  hall,  she  led  me  through  the  house  to  a  large  room 
at  the  back  where  fresh  flowers,  newspapers,  magazines, 
and  a  littered  writing  table  lent  an  air  of  occupancy. 

I  took  up  a  magazine,  and  was  scanning  the  table  of 
contents,  when  the  door-bell  rang  again,  and  I  heard  the 
5  57 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

caretaker  shuffling  through  the  hall ;  then  the  sound  of 
voices,  question,  and  reply. 

Presently  Mrs.  Grey  herself,  with  soft  silken  swish, 
entered  the  room  where  I  awaited  her.  I  started  at  the 
sight.  Unconsciously  I  had  been  expecting  the  type  of 
^  woman  who  furnished  material  for  the  paragraphers  and 
caricaturists  of  the  day — a  tall,  short-haired,  rampant 
female,  shrieking  for  her  "rights."  I  saw,  instead,  a 
small,  slender  figure,  feminine  to  her  finger-tips. 

"Mrs.  Yorke  writes  me,"  she  said,  coming  forward 
with  the  letter  in  her  hand, ' '  that  you  are  the  young  lady 
I  am  looking  for,  and" — with  a  kind  glance  from  the 
dark,  deep-lidded  eyes — "I'm  inclined  to  think  so,  too." 

This  put  me  more  at  ease.  The  first  shock  of  finding 
Mrs.  Grey  so  different  from  my  expectation  had  plunged 
me  in  embarrassment.  In  early  years  our  opinions  are 
so  rigid,  so  uncompromising,  that  new  to  the  long  task 
of  readjustment  which  is  life,  we  make  transitions  awk- 
wardly. In  the  presence  of  this  gentlewoman  of  ripened 
culture  and  perfect  poise,  I  was  conscious  of  my  own 
ignorance  and  crudity.  But,  when  I  knew  that  by  some 
miracle  I  found  favor  in  her  sight,  the  knowledge  gave 
me  confidence. 

In  a  voice  that  was  music  to  my  ears,  she  questioned 
me.  Then  she  told  me  what  she  hoped  to  do.  In  her  talk 
there  was  much  of  helpfulness,  much  of  improving  con- 
ditions which  she  referred  to  as  "deplorable,"  much  of 
perfecting  a  system  of  practical  benevolence.  But  there 
was  not  a  word  of  "Woman's  Rights."  By  and  by  she 
said: 

"Miss  Baldwin,  I  should  like  to  engage  you  as  secre- 
tary, ".and  she  mentioned  a  salary  which  seemed  to  me 
munificent.  "We  will  call  it  'secretary,'  she  explained, 
"since  some  name  is  desirable,  but  really  I  can't  tell 
what  your  work  will  be.  At  the  outset,  details  are  rather 
vague,  you  know,  but  I  shall  look  on  you  as  my  personal 
representative.     I  suppose  that  sounds  rather  terrifying 

58 


"WOMAN  SUFFRAGE"— AND  A  JOB 

to  you  now,  but  I  shall  expect  to  train  you  first,  I  am 
convinced  you  will  fit  in  admirably  with  the  whole  scope 
of  the  work.     What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

I  hesitated,  and  she  went  on  quickly,  "Of  course,  the 
salary  I  mentioned  is  only  to  begin  with.  I  should  nat- 
urally increase  it  as  you  gained  in  experience. ' ' 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  I  burst  out.  "You're  very  gen- 
erous but — didn't  Mrs.  Yorke  tell  you?  I  don't  want  to 
vote." 

Mrs.  Grey  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Is  that  all? 
Why,  you  couldn't,  even  if  you  wanted  to." 

"I  know,  now.  That's  what  I  told  Mrs.  Yorke.  It's 
all  right  for  the  present,  but  I  can't  get  a  position  under 
false  pretences.  You're  going  to  change  things,  aren't 
you?" 

Mrs.  Grey  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  that  low, 
musical  laugh  of  hers  rippled  through  the  room.  "I'm 
flattered  by  your  confidence.  In  all  seriousness,  I  hope 
we  are  going  to  change  things  in  good  time. ' ' 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it  would  be  beautiful  to  see  you 
every  day  and — and  I  need  the  money,  too — but  I  don't 
believe  in  woman  suffrage. ' '  Solemnly  I  looked  at  her. 
"I  don't — ever — want  to  vote." 

"I  like  you  all  the  better  for  telling  me,"  she  an- 
swered, "but  I  never  cross  bridges  till  I  come  to  them. 
If  your  life  is  spared,  you  will  learn  a  great  deal  and 
change  your  opinions  on  many  subjects  in  the  next  few 
years.  But  it  is  only  the  present  that  concerns  us  now. 
I  am  much  more  interested  to  find  the  right  kind  of  girl 
to  help  me  in  the  practical  side  of  philanthropy  than  I 
am  in  her  personal  political  opinions.  I  sha'n't  ask  you 
to  do  anything  of  which  you  disapprove" — there  was  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye  as  she  said  this — "and  you're  under 
no  obligation  to  vote  at  any  time.  Now,  is  it  a  bar- 
gain?" 

"  Yes, "  said  I.    ' '  When  shall  I  begin  ?' ' 

"At  once,"  said  Mrs.  Grey. 
59 


CHAPTER  XIII 
MRS.  GREY  SENDS  ME  TO  BAY  SIDE 

THUS  commenced  an  association  to  which  I  owe  more 
than  I  can  ever  tell.  Aside  from  providing  me 
with  the  means  of  a  livelihood,  to  be  with  Mrs. 
Grey  was  a  liberal  education.  The  training  in  sys- 
tematic benevolence  and  the  intimate  acquaintance — 
from  the  start — with  wide-reaching  policies,  was  of  great 
advantage  later  on,  when  Mrs.  Grey's  success  inspired 
many  followers  to  come  to  us  for  aid  in  mapping  out 
their  work;  while  the  actual  contact  with  cases  of  physi- 
cal suffering  among  the  very  poor,  and  the  furnishing 
relief  to  the  many  we  were  privileged  to  reach,  tended  to 
make  practical  my  text-book  knowledge,  to  foster  re- 
sourcefulness in  emergencies,  to  widen  the  outlook,  and 
deepen  the  sympathies. 

It  was  indeed  on  the  sympathetic  side  that  the  work 
made  the  greatest  appeal  to  me.  The  circumstances  of 
my  own  life,  the  loneliness  that  had  enshrouded  me  from 
my  earliest  years,  was  open  sesame  to  every  form  of 
misery.  Especially  girls  of  my  own  age  opened  their 
hearts  to  me  as  they  did  not  to  older  women.  Some  way 
they  seemed  to  know  that,  whatever  they  had  to  say, 
whatever  the  limitations  of  my  own  experience,  I  would 
understand.  The  personal  tragedies  of  these  girls 
brought  me  close  to  the  raw  edge  of  reality,  and  banished 
the  pretty  delusions  about  life  which  many  persons  look 
upon  as  the  crowning  grace  of  girlhood.  In  our  work,  no 
apologetic  draping  of  fact  was  possible.  We  dealt  at 
first  hand  with  human  documents. 

60 


MRS.   GREY  SENDS  ME  TO  BAY  SIDE 

In  the  presence  of  so  much  that  we  were  powerless  to 
remedy,  I  was  discouraged  by  the  little  we  could  do ;  yet 
discouragement  but  spurred  me  on.  For  two  years  I 
would  not  listen  to  any  suggestion  of  vacation.  I  re- 
mained in  the  boarding  house  to  which  I  had  first  gone, 
where  in  the  winter  time  I  was  surrounded  by  elderly 
persons,  who  told  me  to  wear  rubbers  when  it  stormed, 
and  who  kindly  made  it  their  concern  to  see  that  I  forti- 
fied myself  with  what  they  deemed  "a  good  breakfast" 
before  venturing  outside.  In  the  summer  the  elderly  per- 
sons went  away,  and  there  were  long  stretches  at  a  time 
when  I  was  alone  in  the  house,  save  that  a  couple  of 
chambermaids — from  the  landlady's  other  house  across 
the  street,  where  I  took  my  meals — were  supposed  to 
sleep  in  the  basement.  Whether  they  did  or  not,  I 
never  knew  definitely,  for  I  was  too  timid  to  travel 
downstairs  through  dimly  lighted  halls  at  night  to  in- 
vestigate. 

Of  Alison  I  heard  no  word ;  but  every  girl  I  met  was 
for  me  my  sister  in  disguise,  and  whatever  I  accom- 
plished in  the  tenements  was  done  first  of  all  for  the  sake 
of  Alison.  Philip  went  abroad  not  long  after  our  gradu- 
ation from  the  university ;  by  and  by  he  married,  and  his 
marriage  set  me  free.  My  emotion  had  always  been  of 
the  spirit  rather  than  of  the  flesh,  yet,  once  he  was  a 
married  man,  even  thraldom  of  the  spirit  would  have 
seemed  to  me  a  sin. 

In  those  two  years  I  met  no  young  people  whatever 
save  the  girls  for  whose  betterment  I  worked,  and  their 
— for  the  most  part — recreant  lovers.  On  the  street  I 
often  saw  young  men  and  women  whom  I  wished  that 
I  could  meet,  but  I  had  no  way  of  meeting  them.  I 
remember  there  were  several  young  men  for  whose 
appearance  on  Fifth  Avenue  I  used  to  watch  each  morn- 
ing. They  went  downtown  to  business  at  the  same  hour 
that  I  went  uptown  to  join  Mrs.  Grey,  and  candor  com- 
pels me  to   confess   that  the  morning  promenade  was 

61 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

punctuated  here  and  there  by  smiles.  I  smiled  on  gen- 
eral principles,  because  I  was  young  and  full  of  life ;  also 
because,  failing  anything  in  the  form  of  family  associa- 
tions, I  welcomed  the  sight  of  the  same  attractive  faces 
at  the  same  place,  at  the  same  time  every  day ;  indeed,  if 
it  chanced  some  morning  that  I  met  at  Thirty-seventh 
Street  the  young  man  who  usually  passed  me  ten  blocks 
farther  down  the  avenue,  he  doubtless  understood  that  I 
knew  he  was  late.  And  he  knew  I  knew  he  understood 
it,  but  it  went  without  saying.  Smiling  was  the  bound- 
ary line. 

In  reality,  my  existence  was  so  devoid  of  the  normal 
pleasures  of  youth  that  that  morning  walk  up  the  avenue 
was  the  one  joyous  incident  of  the  day,  the  only  stimu- 
lant I  had  for  long  hours  of  depressing  toil ;  naturally, 
then,  I  smiled ;  and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  such  spontaneity 
on  the  part  of  a  young  woman  is  not  necessarily  misin- 
terpreted, even  in  New  York.  At  times  somebody  would 
try  to  pass  the  boundary  line  of  smiles ;  whereupon,  I 
promptly  decided  that  he  was  unworthy  of  a  place  in  the 
line  of  "regulars."  His  first  word  marked  the  date  of 
my  last  smile. 

Occasionally,  I  accompanied  Mrs.  Grey  to  her  country 
place,  but  it  was  inconvenient  for  both  of  us  to  be  away 
at  once ;  and  even  when  we  did  go  anywhere  together,  we 
carried  with  us  the  atmosphere  of  "shop. "  Mrs.  Grey's 
own  early  life  had  been  so  different  from  mine  that  she 
did  not  understand  my  need  of  young  companionship  to 
offset  the  gloomy  environment  of  our  daily  work.  At 
my  age  she  was  married,  and  her  existence  centered  in 
her  husband.  With  his  death  she  felt  that  her  own  life 
ended,  too,  so  far  as  any  personal  interest  was  concerned ; 
and  she  often  said  that  she  deserved  no  credit  for  her 
philanthropic  work,  as  it  represented  but  a  makeshift 
at  existence  for  herself.  In  this  she  did  herself  injus- 
tice. I  think  she  was  the  type  of  woman  for  whom  one 
interest — and  only  one — is  needed.     While  her  husband 

62 


MRS.   GREY  SENDS  ME  TO  BAY  SIDE 

lived,  she  was  wrapped  up  in  him ;  after  his  death,  she 
became  absorbed  in  philanthropy. 

I  was  useful  to  her,  and  she  grew  fond  of  me  as  part 
of  the  machine ;  as  such,  she  spared  no  labor  or  expense 
to  secure  my  comfort  and  foster  my  efficiency;  for 
instance,  she  would  spend  money  lavishly  for  cabs  for 
me  when  I  went  to  investigate  cases  in  her  stead.  She 
would  order  meals  sent  in  from  expensive  restaurants 
when  I  was  too  busy  to  remember  to  go  out  to  luncheon. 
Our  office  equipment  comprised  the  best  that  science 
could  devise  and  money  could  procure. 

In  other  words,  Mrs.  Grey  would  do  anything  for  me 
in  office  hours,  but,  thus  far,  it  never  seemed  to  occur  to 
her  to  provide  me  with  relaxation  after  office  hours.  Of 
course,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should.  I  simply 
mention  the  fact  as  throwing  light  on  our  relationship. 
From  the  beginning  she  showed  appreciation  of  the  care 
with  which  I  studied  her  way  of  doing  things,  and  of  the 
"  level -headedness" — as  she  was  kind  enough  to  call  it — 
with  which,  as  time  went  on,  I  met  responsibility.  Aside 
from  this  she  liked  my  buoyancy,  for  she  took  it  as  a 
sign  that  the  daily  routine  was  to  me  as  all-absorbing  as 
it  was  to  her ;  whereas  I  summoned  cheerfulness  to  hide 
a  sense  of  isolation  which,  foreign  to  her  own  experience, 
I  felt  she  would  not  understand. 

At  the  end  of  my  second  year  with  Mrs.  Grey — about 
the  middle  of 'July — we  had  a  period  of  record-breaking 
weather  in  New  York.  In  robust  health  thus  far,  I  had 
been  indifferent  to  the  extremes  of  summer  heat  and  win- 
ter cold.  But,  in  this  combination  of  long-continued  high 
temperature  and  excessive  humidity,  even  my  step  lagged, 
my  buoyancy  declined.  I  think  the  weather  was  only 
partially  responsible  for  this.  At  the  same  time'came  the 
culmination  of  a  particularly  sad  case  in  the  tenements, 
which  for  months  had  sapped  my  strength  and  overtaxed 
my  sympathies. 

One  morning,  early  in  August,  when  not  a  breath  of 
63 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

air  was  stirring,  I  left  the  boarding  house,  after  a  sleep- 
less night ;  and,  hoping  for  an  easy  day,  dragged  myself 
up  to  the  office.  Our  office,  at  this  time,  was  still  nomi- 
nally in  Mrs.  Grey's  home  on  uppei  Fifth  Avenue, 
though  most  of  our  work  was  carried  on  downtown.  As 
I  entered,  she  thus  greeted  me : 

"How  soon  can  you  get  ready  to  go  to  Bay  Side?" 
The  place  she  mentioned  was  a  summer  resort  on  the 
New  Jersey  coast. 

Inferring  that  I  was  to  be  sent  on  some  errand  of 
mercy,  I  replied,  "That  depends  on  what  supplies  I  must 
take  with  me. ' '  Against  my  will  I  shrank  from  the  pre- 
liminary exertion  that  "supplies"  implied.  Uncon- 
sciously I  sighed.     "  Is  it  an  urgent  case  ?' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Grey. 

"Then,"  with  a  quick  glance  at  what  we  called  the 
"emergency  chest,"  which  I  remembered  gratefully  had 
been  recently  replenished,  "I  can  get  ready  in  an  hour. 
Have  you  a  time  table?"  The  question  showed  I  was  not 
myself,  otherwise  I  should  have  known  that  Mrs.  Grey 
had  thought  out  the  details. 

"The  next  boat  leaves  Rector  Street  at  eleven 
o'clock,"  she  said.  "At  Atlantic  Highlands  you  take 
the  train,  and  then,  in  a  very  short  time,  you'll  be  at  the 
hotel.  I've  often  been  there  myself,  and  I've  just  wired 
the  proprietor  to  see  to  it  that  my  friend,  Miss  Baldwin, 
has  the  best  the  house  affords.  You're  to  stay  there  till 
the  first  of  September. ' ' 

"I — don't — understand,"  I  stammered.  "You — you 
said  it  was — an  urgent  case. " 

"It  is."  There  was  a  pause;  then,  more  gently,  she 
said,  "My  dear,  you're  to  have  a  vacation." 

I  looked  at  her,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  my  eyes ;  tired 
and  overwrought,  I  might  have  cried  at  anything ;  at  any 
rate,  I  could  not  be  insensible  to  her  unwonted  gentleness 
of  manner  and  of  voice.  I  tried  to  dash  the  tears  away, 
but  they  only  fell  faster. 

64 


MRS.   GREY  SENDS  ME  TO  BAY  SIDE 

She  led  me  to  a  chair,  and  began  to  speak  again.  "I 
reproach  myself  for  not  taking  better  care  of  you.  The 
fact  is,  we're  so  busy  here  with  official  philanthropy  that 
anything  more  personal  than  red  tape  gets  crowded  out. 
And  I'm  ashamed  to  say  the  possibility  of  your  breaking 
down  never  occurred  to  me  till  one  of  the  tenement-house 
girls  suggested  it.  That  shows  how  blind  I've  been.  I 
kept  piling  on  the  work,  and  you  did  it  all  just  as  if  you 
weren't  on  the  verge  of  a  breakdown." 

I  pulled  myself  together  then,  and  emphatically  de- 
clared, "I'm  not  going  to  break  down." 

"Indeed  you're  not  if  I  can  help  it,"  she  replied. 
"Here's  your  salary  check" — she  tossed  it  in  my  lap — 
"I  thought  you  might  like  it  in  advance.  And  here's 
another  for  traveling  and  hotel  expenses.  Until  Sep- 
tember 1st  you're  to  do  nothing  in  this  world  but  rest 
and  get  back  your  red  cheeks.  I  can't  afford  to  have 
you  look  like  this.     Now,  promise  me  you  will." 

I  promised,  and  tried  to  thank  her,  too,  but  she  cut  me 
short.  "You  haven't  anything  to  say  about  this  case. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  obey.  Now  run  along, ' '  she 
gave  me  a  gentle  shove — "or  you'll  miss  that  boat.  In 
a  week  or  two  I  shall  come  down  to  see  how  you're 
making  out.  In  the  meantime,  you  do  as  I  tell  you  to. 
Rest. ' '  Then  she  thrust  into  my  hands  the  time  table, 
and  kissed  me  good-by  as  she  went  with  me  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
ENTER  THE  FORSYTHES 

LIKE  one  in  a  dream,  I  journeyed  to  Bay  Side.  The 
hotel  that  was  my  destination,  fronted  on  the 
beach,  and  its  rear  windows  commanded  a  near 
view  of  the  Shrewsbury  River.  It  was  the  typical  summer 
hotel  of  the  period,  a  big  sprawling  wooden  structure 
that  housed  hundreds  of  guests.  My  first  impression 
was  that  there  were  thousands  there,  for  the  time  of  my 
arrival  was  the  interval  between  the  bathing  hour  and 
luncheon  when,  under  the  appetizing  influence  of  gossip 
and  embroidery,  the  feminine  contingent  of  the  rocking- 
chair  fleet  held  full  sway  on  the  piazzas. 

As  the  'bus  drew  up  before  the  door,  the  hotel  looked 
to  me  like  a  densely  populated  playground,  hedged  in  by 
a  whispering  gallery  where  the  hum  of  many  voices  was 
intensified.  Most  of  the  men  had  gone  to  town,  but  here 
and  there  the  whiff  of  a  pipe  enhanced  the  rough,  good, 
sea-coast  smell,  as  some  long  lean  figure  in  flannels  or 
white  ducks  loomed  up  among  a  group  of  girls,  or  the 
rotund  shape  of  some  father  of  a  family  resignedly 
trailed  up  and  down  in  obedience  to  the  whim  of  his 
shrill -voiced  progeny.  Discarded  newspapers,  which  the 
breeze  swept  along  the  floor,  testified  to  the  earlier  ac- 
tivities of  the  company,  among  whom,  at  opposite  ends  of 
the  piazza,  a  couple  of  venders  of  Indian  basket  and  bead 
work  vied  with  each  other  for  supremacy.  There  was 
a  veritable  babel  of  voices,  and,  like  an  undercurrent 
through  it  all,  ran  the  roar  of  the  much-sounding  sea. 

This  rhjrthmic  roar  of  the  sea  was  the  only  restful 
element  in  the  panorama  whose  salient  features  sprang 

66 


ENTER  THE  FORSYTHES 

upon  me  at  first  glance.  I  was  so  tired,  so  unstrung, 
that  even  to  write  my  name  in  the  hotel  register  seemed 
a  terrible  ordeal,  as  I  climbed  out  of  the  'bus.  But,  in 
the  office,  my  difficulties  fled.  The  hotel  people  expected 
me,  it  seemed,  and  I  was  shown  at  once  to  a  large  cool 
room  that  looked  out  upon  the  sea.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  sense  of  utter  weariness  with  which  I  undressed 
and  went  to  bed. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  next  twenty-four  hours  I 
slept ;  occasionally  a  chambermaid  would  disturb  me  on 
the  flimsy  plea  of  towels,  or  some  peal  of  laughter  from 
the  corridor  would  make  me  remember,  for  the  moment, 
where  I  was.  But  the  joy  of  being  there,  combined  with 
the  far-away  strains  of  the  orchestra,  and  the  more  sooth- 
ing music  of  the  sea,  would  soon  lull  me  back  to  sleep. 

After  twenty-four  hours,  I  was  wide  awake,  and  as 
good  as  new  again,  for  the  sovereign  remedy  of  rest  was 
here  reinforced  by  the  tonic  of  a  new  environment.  I 
had  never  looked  upon  the  sea  before,  and  my  vocabu- 
lary was  quite  inadequate  to  express  the  joy  which  the 
first  sight  of  it  conferred.  Eager  to  compare  notes  with 
somebody,  I  opened  conversation  with  the  chambermaid, 
whom  I  found  singularly  unresponsive  to  old  ocean's 
charm.  The  waiter  who  attended  to  my  wants  in  the 
dining-room,  was  also  disappointing  on  this  score,  and 
the  hotel  clerks  seemed  to  think  my  adjectives  a  joke. 
But  it  was  a  mystery  to  me  how  the  multitudes,  sojourn- 
ing by  the  sea,  could  be  so  unappreciative  of  their  own 
good  luck  in  being  there.  I  wanted  to  ask  them  about 
it,  but  I  couldn't,  for  I  hadn't  been  introduced.  So  far 
as  conversation  went,  I  was  no  better  off  in  this  crowded 
caravansary  than  in  the  almost  empty  boarding  house  in 

West   Twenty Street,    New   York.     But,  at  least  I 

could  see  people  all  about,  could  breathe  the  odors  of 
green  lands  where  the  salt  sea  was  blowing,  and  could 
watch  the  game — the  great  human  game — go  on. 

However,  the  role  of  onlooker  didn't  long  appeal  to 
67 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

me.  I  wanted  to  be  in  the  game  myself.  I  used  to 
watch  the  girls  of  my  own  age,  who  were  at  the  hotel 
with  their  mothers,  or  other  chaperons,  and,  as  I  ob- 
served the  feminine  attitude  to  me,  I  realized,  for  the 
first  time,  that  a  young  woman  alone  is  under  suspicion. 
The  "blue  blood"  of  my  ancestors,  who  were  gentlemen 
and  scholars,  and  recognized  only  the  aristocracy  of 
birth  and  character,  surged  within  me  at  the  thought 
that  because  I  was  the  last  of  my  race — because  I  was 
alone  and  worked  for  my  living — I  was  to  be  ignored. 
This  realization  hurt,  but  I  didn't  brood  upon  it  long. 
There  was  the  ocean  at  my  feet — nothing,  nobody,  could 
spoil  that! 

As  a  child  at  grandfather's,  I  had  learned  surrepti- 
tiously to  swim  in  the  mill  pond,  and  I  now  put  my 
knowledge  to  the  test  in  the  Atlantic.  The  knowledge 
stood  the  test,  and,  before  long,  I  was  known  as  one  of 
the  best  swimmers  among  the  guests,  particularly  from 
the  day  when  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  of  assistance 
in  rescuing  a  half-grown  girl,  who,  venturing  out  too 
far,  was  caught  by  the  undertow. 

Following  this  episode,  friendly  overtures  were  made 
by  women,  who  had  recognized  my  presence  only  by  up- 
lifted eyebrows  heretofore ;  then  it  was  my  turn  to  stand 
aloof  and  I  made  the  most  of  it,  persuading  myself  that 
my  refusal  to  accept  the  proffered  olive  branch  was 
based  upon  the  fact  that  the  women  who  extended  it 
were  idle,  overdressed  creatures,  tiresome  in  every  way. 
But  I  know  now  that  I  had  too  much  of  the  arrogance  of 
youth,  and  was  influenced,  in  part  at  least,  by  the  rank- 
ling memory  of  the  women's  earlier  attitude.  The  men, 
I  have  not  mentioned,  chiefly  because  there  were  so  few 
of  them,  and  because  they  fell  into  three  classes — callow 
youths,  superannuated  bachelors,  and  fat,  middle-aged 
married  men — all  at  that  time  equally  unattractive  in 
my  eyes.  Summing  it  up,  the  people  didn't  interest  m^ 
but  the  ocean  did. 

68 


ENTER  THE  FORSYTHES 

This  was  true  for  ten  days  or  so,  when  two  people 
arrived,  whose  entrance  at  luncheon-time  made  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  dining-room.  They  turned  out  to  be  mother 
and  son,  though,  owing  to  the  woman's  youthful  look, 
and  the  loverlike  demeanor  of  the  man,  rumor  would 
have  it  at  the  first  that  they  were  a  newly  married  pair. 
As  the  head  waiter  seated  them  at  the  table  where  I  had 
a  place,  their  relationship  was  soon  known  to  me.  And 
I  marveled  at  them  both. 

All  the  mothers  of  grown  sons  whom  I  had  met  thus 
far,  had  been  self-confessed  old  ladies,  who,  in  gowns 
that  did  not  fit,  and  bonnets  that  accommodated  them- 
selves with  difficulty  to  the  wearers'  style  of  hair  dress- 
ing, radiated  the  general  impression  of  being  prepared  to 
die.  Mrs.  Forsythe,  on  the  contrary,  whatever  may 
have  been  her  hopes  of  a  hereafter,  displayed  keen  inter- 
est in  the  present  life.  She  was  as  sprightly  as  a  girl, 
tramped  for  miles  each  day,  and,  in  the  evening,  danced 
— always  with  her  son — more  gracefully  than  any  other 
woman  on  the  floor.  Three  days  after  their  arrival, 
Mrs.  Forsythe  and  I  chanced  to  meet  at  early  breakfast, 
and  she  spoke  to  me;  her  enthusiasm  for  the  seashore 
matched  my  own,  and  we  were  deep  in  conversation, 
when  the  young  man  appeared.  Then  the  mother,  glow- 
ing with  pride  and  pleasure,  as  she  looked  at  him,  intro- 
duced her  son. 

His  name  was  Paul,  but,  as  I  recall  him  at  that  period, 
all  I  can  think  of  is  Apollo.  He  was  tall  and  straight 
and  fair,  and  carried  himself  like  a  god  who  condescends 
for  a  brief  interval  to  tarry  among  mortals.  Thick, 
curly,  golden  hair  crowned  his  massive  head ;  the  finely 
chiselled,  smooth-shaven  face  showed  a  virile  ashen 
shade  on  lip  and  chin.  In  the  surf,  and  on  the  sands, 
everjrwhere  on  land  and  water,  his  supple,  athletic  figure 
was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes. 

At  this  time  he  had  just  passed  his  thirty-second 
birthday.    His  manner  was  that  of  a  man  of  affairs,  who 

69 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

carries  with  ease  heavy  responsibilities,  who  is  con- 
versant with  policies  of  world  significance.  Mrs.  For- 
sythe,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  kind  of  woman  who  is 
perennially  young;  so  her  eighteen  years  of  seniority 
counted  for  little,  when  one  saw  her  with  her  son. 

His  deference  to  her,  which  of  itself  would  have  won 
the  hearts  of  most  of  the  women  guests,  had  in  it  noth- 
ing of  traditional  filial  reverence.  It  was,  instead,  if  one 
judged  by  appearances — and  how  else  could  one  judge? 
— the  spontaneous  expression  of  a  man's  devotion  to  the 
most  fascinating  woman  in  his  circle  of  acquaintances. 
That  she  chanced  to  be  his  mother,  was  only  an  incident ; 
but  it  was  an  incident  which  distinctly  enhanced  his 
value  in  the  eyes  of  a  community  accustomed  to  reckon 
either  with  sons  who  entirely  disregarded  the  filial  bond, 
or  who  were  tied  to  their  mothers'  apron  strings.  In 
short,  Paul  Forsjrthe  was  a  new  kind  of  son,  and  the 
women  placed  him  on  a  pedestal. 

Of  this  elevation,  and  of  the  admiring  glances  that 
followed  him,  Forsythe,  who  with  a  vigorous  mascu- 
linity combined  a  subtlety  that  was  almost  feminine, 
appeared  unconscious;  his  considering,  caressing  eyes, 
when  not  bent  upon  his  mother,  scanned  with  interest 
some  distant  point  on  the  horizon,  or  were  buried  in  a 
book ;  and  this  very  attitude  of  detachment — one  might 
almost  say  indifference — resulted,  for  the  majority  of 
feminine  beholders,  in  adding  fuel  to  the  flame.  In  the 
vernacular,  they  were  "crazy  to  meet  him." 

But  not  even  the  most  carping  critic  could  have 
included  me  among  them.  I  was  so  ashamed  of  the  way 
my  sex,  as  I  saw  them  at  Bay  Side,  conducted  themselves 
in  regard  to  Paul  Forsythe — I  was  so  disgusted  with  their 
open  pursuit  of  him,  that  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would 
show  him  and  everybody  else  that  there  was  at  least  one 
girl  on  the  premises  who  had  some  self-respect.  This 
resolve  I  had  early  opportunity  to  execute. 


70 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  SUNDAY  MORNING  CHAT 

THE  first  Sunday  morning  after  the  arrival  of  this 
unusual  pair,  I  was  sitting  on  the  piazza  with  a 
newspaper,  when  Paul  Forsythe  appeared  in  the 
doorway  after  a  late  breakfast,  and  placidly  surveyed  the 
scene.  I  had  purposely  gone  down  to  breakfast  early, 
for  I  was  as  persistent  in  avoiding  him  at  table  as  the 
other  girls  appeared  to  be  in  going  more  than  half-way 
to  meet  him.  The  piazza  was  almost  deserted  now,  for 
most  of  the  company  had  gone  to  church.  As  I  skimmed 
the  newspaper  I  was  conscious  of  his  scrutiny. 

"H'mph!  Think' s  he's  going  to  make  me  look  up,'* 
I  muttered  to  myself.     "Well,  he  isn't." 

Presently  he  emerged  from  the  doorway,  and  began 
pacing  up  and  down.  I  was  sitting  by  the  piazza  rail, 
and  several  times  he  passed  quite  near  my  chair.  But  I 
never  raised  my  eyes.  Next  he  stalked  over  to  a  bench 
beside  the  window,  and  for  some  time  sat  there  study- 
ing his  cigar  tip,  and  incidentally  myself.  I  do  not 
mean,  of  course,  that  Paul  Forsythe  was  guilty  of  any- 
thing so  rude  and  crude  as  staring;  a  casual  onlooker 
would  never  have  detected  him ;  but  I  was  conscious  that 
from  under  half-closed  lids,  which  seemed  quite  unobser- 
ving,  he  was  watching  every  move  I  made. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  flee,  but,  in  a  wave  of  antag- 
onism, I  remembered  that  I  had  just  as  good  right  on 
that  piazza  as  he  had :  he  should  not  drive  me  indoors.  I 
meant  to  sit  quite  still,  but  involuntarily  I  shifted  my 
position  so  that  he  could  not  see  my  face.     By  and  by  he 

71 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

took  another  turn,  up  and  down  the  long  hotel  piazza ; 
then,  having  finished  his  cigar,  he  casually  halted  by  my 
side. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Baldwin,"  he  said. 

"Oh,"  said  I,  looking  up.  "Good  morning,  Mr. 
Forsythe." 

"I  believe  it  is  still  morning,"  was  his  next  remark, 
"though  I  assure  you  it  seems  late  in  the  afternoon  to  me 
— of  a  rather  chilly  day." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes.  You  see,"  letting  his  eyes  rest  musingly  on 
me,  "I've  been  working  so  hard." 

"Working?  Rather  out  of  your  line,  isn't  it?  Any- 
way, this  is  supposed  to  be  a  day  of  rest. ' ' 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  dismissed  the  supposition. 

"'Better  the  day,  better  the  deed.'  That's  why  I 
saved  up  this  particular  job  till  Sunday." 

"Yes,"  I  laughed,  "but  did  you  accomplish  any-, 
thing?    That's  what  counts. " 

"Well,"  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  "at  least  I  made  a  start.  I  made  you  speak 
to  me.  Who  was  it  said,  that  'well  begun  was  half 
done'?" 

"Somebody  who  made  an  overestimate,"  I  flung  out 
with  spirit. 

" Possibly, "  he  replied,  with  a  judicial  calm  that  I 
found  hard  to  bear.  "By  the  way.  Miss  Baldwin,  do 
you  mind  if  I  smoke?" 

' '  Mr.  Forsythe, ' '  I  said,  with  an  air  of  utter  uncon- 
cern, "really  I  don't  mind  anything  you  do." 

"That  is  nice  of  you,"  he  cried,  gayly.  "I  have  no 
reason  to  complain  of  unkindness  from  your  sex  in  gen- 
eral. But  on  my  word,"  with  a  low  bow,  "yours  is  the 
prettiest  speech  I  have  listened  to  in  many  a  long  day." 
This  had  the  desired  effect :  it  made  me  furious. 

With  blazing  cheeks  I  turned  on  him.  * '  Of  all  the 
conceited  people  I  have  ever  seen !    What  I  meant  was' ' 

72 


A  SUNDAY  MORNING  CHAT 

— in  slow,  incisive  tones  I  bit  off  the  words — "that 
nothing  you  could  possibly  do — or  not  do — was  of  the 
slightest  consequence. ' '  I  rose  abruptly.  *  *  I  have  some 
letters  to  write. ' ' 

"So  have  I,"  he  said,  rising.  "But  I'm  not  going  to 
write  them.  Please  don't  go  in.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you."  He  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  mine.  "Why, 
what  a  cold  little  hand  it  is. ' ' 

"Just  the  way  it  always  is,"  said  I,  drawing  the 
hand  away. 

"Then  your  circulation's  poor,"  said  he.  "Now  sit 
down,  do,  and  let  me  diagnose  your  case.  It's  a  very 
interesting  case."  He  lingered  on  the  words,  till  I 
finally  looked  up.  Then  we  both  laughed  and  sat  down 
again. 

"First  of  all,"  said  Paul  Forsythe,  "I  shall  avail  my- 
self of  your  gracious  permission  to  smoke. ' ' 

I  flashed  at  him  the  look  of  scorn  which  this  merited, 
but  he  remained  imperturbable.  Fumbling  in  one 
pocket,  he  drew  forth  a  short  pipe ;  [from  another  pocket 
produced  a  tobacco  pouch;  next,  with  deliberation,  he 
rapped  out  over  the  piazza  rail,  a  remnant  of  dead  ashes 
from  the  pipe,  refilled  it  slowly  from  the  tobacco  pouch, 
lighted  it,  and  settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair. 
All  this  time  I  was  watching  him.  After  a  few  medita- 
tive puffs,  he  began : 

"Thus  far  I  haven't  had  much  chance  to  study  the 
symptoms  of  the  case,  for  the  patient  has  kept  out  of 
sight.  And  when  I  did  see  her  in  the  dining-room,  she 
always  had  a  chip  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  padlock,  so  to 
speak,  upon  her  lips.  However,  to  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge and  belief,  the  cold  hands  of  the  patient — I  assume 
that  the  right  is  as  cold  as  the  left,  though  I've  not  been 
able  thus  far  to  verify  it — spring  from  excessive  inde- 
pendence of  spirit.  Independence  is  all  right  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as  overdoing  it.  As 
your  medical  adviser,  I  suggest  a  let-up  from  now  on. ' ' 
6  73 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Here  he  removed  his  pipe,  and  bestowed  on  it  a  critical 
inspection.  "In  other  words.  Miss  Baldwin,"  here  the 
inspection  was  transferred  to  me,  * '  I  propose  a  cessation 
of  hostilities.  For  two  weeks,  say,  suppose  you  give  me 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt ;  that  is,  give  me  a  chance  to  get 
acquainted  with  you.  I  may  not  be  so  bad  as  you  think 
I  am.  Just  try  me  and  see. ' '  His  voice  had  dropped  to 
a  note  of  seriousness  now,  that  was  not  without  its 
appeal. 

I  began  to  wonder  if  I  had  been  rude.  Almost  apolo- 
getically I  smiled  up  at  him.  "Why,  I — I — hope  I  have 
an  open  mind. ' ' 

' '  Good !    Then  you  won '  t  avoid  me  ? " 

"No,  but — "  remembering  the  conduct  of  the  other 
girls,  I  sat  up  a  little  straighten  "I  sha'n't  run  after 
you." 

"You  won't  have  to." 

"  H '  mph !    I  wouldn '  t  anyway. ' ' 

"Of  course  not.     Then  it's  a  bargain?" 

I  nodded. 

"Shake  hands  on  it,"  he  cried.  "It's  always  well 
to  ratify  an  agreement  of  this  sort. ' ' 

The  ratification  was  accomplished  with  due  formality, 
but  an  instant  later,  Forsythe  turned  to  me  with  a  con- 
fidential smile.  "The  symptoms  are  improved  already, ' ' 
he  declared.  ' '  Your  right  hand  is  much  warmer  than 
the  left  was  a  little  while  ago. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE    CHALLENGE 

THE  conversation  still  continued  when  the  people 
came  home  from  church;  and  many  a  curious 
glance  was  turned  in  our  direction,  as  dowagers 
and  debutantes  swept  indoors  with  prayer  books  and 
fans.  Presently  many  of  the  women  returned  to  the 
piazza  and  planted  themselves  near,  but  the  young  man 
was  apparently  oblivious  of  everything  except  our  talk. 
It  might  better  be  called  his  talk,  for  with  the  role  of 
listener  to  the  monologue  he  poured  into  my  ears  I 
combined  the  activities  of  a  thinking  part. 

And  there  was  much  to  think  about.  When  I  prom- 
ised Paul  Forsythe  to  "give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt, ' '  I  also  promised  myself  to  look  upon  the  acquaint- 
ance as  a  game.  Furthermore,  it  was  a  game  on  which 
he  entered — so  I  told  myself — in  a  spirit  of  resentment, 
that  any  woman  in  his  presence  dare  display  indiffer- 
ence ;  for  the  manifest  admiration  of  the  other  girls,  he 
apparently  cared  not  a  jot.  And  yet  I  was  convinced 
that  his  only  reason  for  seeking  my  society  was  that  I 
did  not  bow  down  and  worship  like  the  rest.  He 
thought  he  could  make  me  fall  into  line,  did  he,  if  he 
paid  me  a  little  attention  ?  Very  well,  then,  it  was  a 
challenge :  I  would  show  him  I  was  not  afraid. 

From  that  Sunday,  Paul  Forsythe  devoted  himself  to 
me ;  or  rather  to  the  task  he  had  set  himself,  of  breaking 
down  my  indifference.  To  this  task  he  brought  good 
looks,  an  amplitude  of  accomplishments,   a  breadth  of 

75 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

experience,  and  a  degree  of  personal  charm,  the  like  of 
which  I  had  never  seen. 

But  I  resented  his  air  of  superiority,  with  its  implica- 
tion of  abundant  ease.  And  I  even  despised  him  for  his 
immaculate  attire  and  for  his  extremely  well-kept  hands. 
In  the  workaday  world  to  which  I  belonged,  boys  were 
brought  up  to  earn  their  bread;  but  here  was  a  man 
thirty-two  years  old,  six  feet  two  inches  tall,  the  picture 
of  perfect  health,  who  seemed  never  to  have  done  a  day's 
work  in  his  life. 

This  he  explained  by  saying  he  had  been  a  puny, 
sickly  child,  whom  the  doctors  told  his  mother  she  could 
never  hope  to  raise.  "But  she  wouldn't  believe  them, " 
he  declared.  "She  was  scarcely  out  of  her  teens,  although 
a  widow,  when,  after  a  consultation  of  physicians,  she 
broke  up  her  home,  and  started  out  with  me  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery,  for  something  which  should  save  my  life. 

"First  she  went  to  Europe,  to  the  best-known  special- 
ists of  that  day ;  and  in  carrying  out  their  orders,  she 
became  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Travel 
was  not  as  luxurious  then  as  it  is  to-day;  we  often  spent 
months  at  a  time  in  the  open,  on  the  outskirts  of  civili- 
zation, where  life  on  any  terms  for  a  woman  was  diffi- 
cult. Many  mothers  have  sacrificed  themselves  in  this 
way,  I  know,  but  my  mother  did  still  more.  Just  as 
soon  as  I  was  old  enough,  and  well  enough  to  look  after 
myself,  she  gave  me  what  I  prized  most  of  all — liberty. 
I  was  footloose  and  fancy  free.  There  was  money 
enough,  and  to  spare.  I  went  where  I  liked,  returned 
when  I  pleased,  and  was  held  to  no  account  for  my 
actions  or  expenditures. ' '  He  had  been  gazing  out  to 
sea,  while  he  talked  thus  reminiscently,  but  now  he 
turned  to  me.  "Whatever  I  am  to-day,"  he  said,  "I  owe 
to  mother's  influence." 

This  tribute  I  liked,  and  the  air  of  mystery  which 
shrouded  him,  also  appealed  to  the  inexperienced  girl. 
His  education,  so  he  told  me,  had  been  picked  up  piece- 

76 


THE  CHALLENGE 

meal  in  the  comers  of  the  earth.  He  had  studied  in 
many  different  schools,  he  said,  but  owing  to  ill-health 
and  a  series  of  accidents  on  which  he  lightly  touched, 
had  never  been  graduated  from  any  one  of  them.  Yet, 
it  seemed  to  me,  he  had  more  information  on  a  greater 
variety  of  subjects  than  any  professor  I  had  ever  lis- 
tened to. 

From  his  extensive  travels,  he  had  acquired  knowl- 
edge at  first  hand,  of  conditions  existing  in  many  coun- 
tries ;  he  knew  the  history  of  nations,  understood  many 
varieties  of  government,  was  familiar  with  world  politics. 
Nor  was  this  all :  in  the  realms  of  literatiure,  sculpture, 
music,  poetry,  the  drama,  he  appeared  to  be  equally  at 
home.  While  professing  great  enthusiasm  for  the  forms 
of  beauty,  which  older  civilizations  had  revealed  to  him, 
he  was  also  keenly  alive  to  the  New  World's  opportimi- 
ties;  and  now,  after  long  absence,  had  returned  to  his 
native  land,  purposing  to  enter  on  the  study  of  law,  the 
coming  autumn  in  New  York ;  not  with  a  view  to  practi- 
cing, but  to  increase  his  fund  of  general  information. 

"I've  always  meant  to  study  law  some  time, "  he  said 
to  me,  "but  I've  never  got  around  to  it  till  now." 

The  contemplative  attitude  toward  life  of  this  loiterer 
in  pleasant  paths  was  a  revelation  to  a  girl  like  me, 
who  had  had  to  hustle  for  a  living  almost  from  the  start. 
His  intellectual  attainments  (or  my  estimate  of  them, 
which  amounted  to  the  same  thing  at  the  time),  enlisted 
my  respect ;  but  they  would  never  have  endangered  my 
peace  of  mind.  It  is  not  in  my  nature  to  care  overmuch 
for  the  encyclopedia,  even  if  it  is  invested  with  a  hand- 
some binding.  This  was  soon  evident  to  such  a  keen 
judge  of  women  as  Forsythe,  and  thereafter  he  empha- 
sized the  lighter  side  of  life. 

In  that  field  he  was  pre-eminent.  His  raillery  was  of 
the  kind  that  most  appealed  to  me ;  and  all  day  long,  from 
the  first  sight  of  the  big,  blond  head  at  the  breakfast 
table,  till  the  last  bantering  speech  in  the  moonlight  on 

77 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

the  sands,  I  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  fun.  This  was  all 
the  more  delightful  by  contrast  with  the  somber  back- 
ground of  my  life.  I  was  like  a  child  let  out  of  school, 
where  the  lessons  have  all  been  difficult.  Let  out  of 
school  to  play. 

I  had  agreed  "not  to  avoid"  Forsythe.  I  soon  found 
that  meant  I  was  to  spend  with  him  most  of  my  waking 
hours.  Together  we  walked,  drove,  danced,  swam, 
played  tennis,  and  golf.  Under  Mrs.  Forsythe's  chaper- 
onage,  we  made  all-day  excursions  to  various  pleasure 
grounds  in  the  vicinity.  Whether  the  mother  admitted 
me  to  terms  of  intimacy  with  herself  as  another  "sacri- 
fice" for  Paul,  I  do  not  know.  But  her  cordiality  was 
all-sufficient  at  the  time,  and  the  three  of  us  were  on  the 
best  of  terms. 


CHAPTER   XVn 

"playing  the  game"— the  handicap 

OF  course,  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  I  was  immensely 
flattered  that  this  handsome  man  of  charming 
manners  and  superb  physique,  ignored  the  other 
girls,  and  sought  me  exclusively,  but  I  endeavored  to 
accept  the  situation  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner,  as  due 
to  the  agreement,  to  which  I  had  subscribed ;  and  I  fre- 
quently reminded  myself  that  we  were  only  playing  a 
game  which  would  be  finished  soon,  and,  that  it  was  my 
business  to  keep  my  wits  about  me,  and  take  his  sem- 
blance of  devotion  for  just  what  it  was  worth.  Each 
morning,  I  girded  on  the  armor  of  indifference,  and 
entered  the  arena  on  the  watch  for  weak  points  in  my 
antagonist. 

"Is  Venus  going  to  rise  from  the  waves  to-day?" 
smilingly  inquired  Forsythe,  as  we  returned  to  the  hotel, 
after  a  long  morning's  tramp. 

"I  don't  know  about  Venus, "  I  answered,  quickly. 
"But /am." 

"Don't  like  flattery,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  that's  not  flattery!"  A  gesture  emphasized  my 
scorn,     "That  is  a  misplay, " 

"No,  but  honestly,  you  don't,"  he  insisted.  "I've 
noticed  it.  In  all  my  travels  I  never  saw  a  girl  before 
who  wasn't  susceptible  to  flattery." 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  said  I,  "that  that  is  the  most 
insidious  flattery  of  all. ' ' 

"Well,  you're  invulnerable  anyway.  Seriously,  Miss 
Baldwin,  you're  the  most  level-headed  girl  I  know." 

79 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"Then  I'm  sorry  for  the  rest  of  them,"  I  laughed. 
"Of  course  I  like  flattery  when  it's  well  done,  but  I  hate 
to  see  a  man  fall  below  the  level  of  his  opportunities. ' ' 

"So  Venus  isn't  good  enough  for  you?  Is  that  it? 
Would  you  like  Minerva  better?"  He  gave  me  a  side 
glance.     "They  tell  me  she  was  an  old  maid." 

"You're  getting  cruder  and  cruder, "  said  I.  "Really 
Mr.  Forsythe,  for  a  man  of  your  training  and  experi- 
ence  " 

Just  when  this  sort  of  talk  began  to  be  an  effort,  I 
cannot  tell,  but  the  time  came  when  I  admitted  to  myself 
that  the  role  was  difficult.  So  long  as  I  was  genuinely 
indifferent  to  him,  I  could  be  at  my  best — by  which  I 
mean  ' '  best' '  from  his  point  of  view.  I  could  play  the 
game  with  zest,  while  I  was  unconcerned,  but  directly  I 
recognized  in  myself  a  real  wish  that  he  should  like  me, 
I  knew  I  was  handicapped. 

It  was  his  manner  to  his  mother  that  first  attracted 
me,  and  when  he  gradually  adopted  the  same  manner  to 
myself,  the  attraction  was  still  harder  to  resist.  There 
was  the  same  deference,  the  same  air  of  hanging  on  my 
words,  of  anticipating  my  slightest  wish,  the  same  atti- 
tude of  protectiveness ;  while,  in  addition,  he  treated  me 
with  the  half-tender,  half-humorous  indulgence  that  one 
shows  a  child.  This  was  particularly  effective  with  a 
girl  like  me,  who  had  always  been  obliged  to  puzzle  out 
life's  problems  for  herself. 

One  day  he  went  to  town.  In  his  absence  Mrs.  For- 
sjrthe  and  I  kept  each  other  company ;  that  is,  she  talked 
to  me  of  Paul,  and  the  two  of  us — she  aloud,  and  I  in 
silence — counted  the  hours  until  train-time.  Early  in  the 
day  she  had  suggested  that  we  give  Paul  a  surprise,  by 
going  to  the  station  to  meet  him.  I  agreed  to  this,  but 
just  as  we  were  ready  to  set  out  from  the  hotel,  Mrs. 
Forsythe  was  summoned  to  the  telephone.  It  was  a  long 
distance  message,  and  glancing  at  her  watch,  she  told 
me  to  go  on  ahead. 

80 


"PLAYING  THE  GAME"— THE  HANDICAP 

To  refuse,  would  be  to  indicate  that  I  attached  im- 
portance to  the  incident;  accordingly,  I  went  alone  to 
meet  him.  I  had  spent  many,  many  hours  alone  with 
him,  but  always  at  his  initiative:  this  was  different. 
And  I  walked  slowly  down  the  road.  Even  so,  I  reached 
the  station  a  little  ahead  of  time.  When  I  heard  the 
whistle,  then  the  rumble  of  the  oncoming  train,  my  heart 
leaped  in  sudden,  unreasoning  joy.  It  had  been  a  long, 
long  day,  but  he  was  coming  now. 

From  a  car  window  he  caught  sight  of  me,  and  rush- 
ing to  the  platform,  jumped  from  the  moving  train ;  then, 
hat  in  hand,  he  made  short  work  of  the  distance  to  the 
doorway  where  I  stood. 

"Well,  this  is  a  surprise,"  he  said,  and  the  words  in 
his  caressing  tone  spoke  volumes  as  he  took  my  hand. 

Smiling,  I  glanced  up  at  him;  but  my  hand  shook, 
and  there  was  a  catch  in  my  voice,  as  I  explained  that, 
had  not  the  telephone  interfered,  the  surprise  would  have 
been  twice  as  great. 

*  *  Oh,  I  like  half  portions  now  and  then, ' '  he  threw 
out  laughing. 

Heretofore  I  had  always  flung  back  the  challenge,  but 
the  laugh  jarred  on  me  now,  and  I  made  no  reply.  At 
dinner,  too,  I  was  quieter  than  usual,  but  Mrs.  Forsythe 
celebrated  with  such  volubility  her  reunion  with  her  son, 
that  my  silence  passed  unnoticed.  Afterward,  on  the 
piazza,  some  women  engaged  the  mother  in  conversation, 
and  the  son  said  to  me,  apropos  of  the  regular  midweek 
ball  at  the  other  hotel  which  we  had  expected  to  attend : 

"Do  you  mind  not  going?    I'm  dead  tired  to-night." 

' '  Of  course  not. ' '     Unconsciously  I  sighed. 

"Little  tired  yourself,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"I've  had  a  beastly  day  in  town,"  Forsythe  resumed, 
"and  this  chatter,"  he  motioned  up  and  down  the 
piazza,  "gets  on  my  nerves.  But  pretty  soon  the  crowd 
will  hike  over  to  the  other  house,  and  we  can  have  this 

81 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

place  to  ourselves.  There'll  be  a  moon,  too,  and  the 
music  will  be  far  enough  away  to  sound  well,  and — and 
you  will  talk  to  me. ' ' 

But  I  couldn't  talk  to  him.  I  was  quite  incapable  of 
keeping  up  my  end  of  small  talk  in  the  game  of  make 
believe;  the  silence  into  which  we  fell  so  terrified  me 
that  to  escape  from  it  I  pleaded  a  headache  soon,  and 
went  upstairs  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XVm 
FLIGHT 

I  TRIED  to  go  to  sleep,  but  after  tossing  and  turning 
for  some  time,  gave  up  the  attempt ;  and  drawing  a 
low  chair  to  the  window,  through  which  a  long 
shaft  of  moonlight  reached,  looked  out  upon  the  sea. 
"It's  all  a  game  with  him,"  I  said  very  slowly,  "but  I 
can't  make  believe  any  more.  I  will  not  let  myself  care 
for  him.  I  will  not,  will  not, '  *  I  repeated  over  and  over 
again.  But  all  the  time  I  was  like  a  child,  who,  alone  in 
the  dark,  sings  because  he  is  afraid. 

Then  I  reviewed  my  life,  and  for  the  first  time  came 
to  some  understanding  of  my  temperament.  Heretofore, 
I  had  gone  on  blindly  accepting  conditions,  without  try- 
ing to  account  for  them.  Now  I  questioned  the  past 
years.  I  realized  that  for  better  or  worse,  without  power 
to  change,  I  was  the  type  of  woman  for  whom  the  affec- 
tions are  of  supreme  importance ;  that  in  my  case  the 
very  lack  of  family  ties  had  developed  an  abnormal 
craving  for  love,  for  sympathy ;  that  in  an  effort  hitherto 
unconscious  to  conceal  this  craving,  from  what  seemed  to 
me  were  the  mocking  eyes  of  men,  I  had  cultivated  to 
the  full  whatever  buoyancy  was  natural;  as  mask  for 
undue  sensitiveness  I  had  assumed  a  manner  of  indiffer- 
ence. The  mask,  the  manner,  had  served  me  fairly  well 
till  now.     This  evening  they  failed  utterly. 

I  thought  of  Alison,  the  sister  for  whom  I  longed  each 
day  with  all  the  strength  that,  for  a  passionate  nature 
comes  from  denial  and  defeat.    I  thought,  too,  of  Philip — 

83 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

or  rather  it  was  no  longer  Philip  himself,  but  what  he 
stood  for,  that  was  present  to  my  mind  as  I  relived  the 
college  years.  The  conviction  came  upon  me,  that  it  all 
amounted  to  the  same  thing.  As  the  past  had  been,  so 
would  the  future  be ;  by  some  curse  I  was  doomed  always 
to  be  baffled  by  my  own  intensity ;  certainty  of  disap- 
pointment was  assured  by  the  greatness  of  my  need.  A 
searchlight  was  playing  over  the  water  just  then,  and  in 
a  flash  it  seemed  to  illumine  a  page  on  which  I  had  often 
read  the  words:  "To  him  that  hath,  shall  be  given,  and 
he  shall  have  abundance.  But  from  him  that  hath  not, 
shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath. ' ' 

Then,  in  another  flash,  came  the  reminder  that  I  need 
never  see  this  man  again.  Less  than  a  week  remained 
of  my  holiday.  Mrs.  Grey  had  been  too  busy  to  fulfill 
her  promise  to  run  down  to  Bay  Side ;  work  was  pressing, 
and  I  knew  that  she  would  welcome  my  return,  I  would 
go  back  to  New  York  at  once,  and,  by  working  harder 
than  before,  would  banish  every  thought  of  Paul 
Forsythe. 

In  making  this  resolve,  I  did  not  deceive  myself  with 
any  notion  that  I  was  influenced  by  motives  of  philan- 
thropy, by  increased  zeal  for  the  welfare  of  the  poor 
among  whom  I  worked.  I  knew  it  was  nothing  but  the 
instinct  of  self-defense.  But  it  should  serve  its  purpose ! 
I  would  forget  the  "game"  I  had  been  prevailed  upon  to 
play! 

And  then  when  I  had  thought  it  all  out,  even  to  decid- 
ing on  what  train  to  take,  my  courage  slipped  away. 
The  blankness,  the  emptiness  of  life  rushed  upon  me 
with  overwhelming  force.  "Why  can't  I  be  like  other 
girls?"  I  sobbed.  "Why  must  I  live  apart?"  At  last  I 
cried  myself  to  sleep. 

It  was  only  a  short  sleep  from  which  I  wakened  before 
the  customary  hour ;  and  dressing  hurriedly,  went  down 
to  early  breakfast.  There,  as  I  had  anticipated,  I  found 
Mrs.    Forsythe,  but  not   her  son.     The  announcement 

84 


FLIGHT 

that  I  was  leaving  that  forenoon  she  received  with  a 
murmur  of  astonishment. 

"Why,  I  thought  you  would  be  here  a  week  longer 
anyway.  We  shall  miss  you,"  she  said,  slipping  her 
arm  through  mine  as  we  left  the  dining-room.  "Have 
you  a  minute  to  stop  in  my  room?" 

"Certainly,"  I  replied. 

"I  want  to  tell  you, "  she  began,  when  we  were  seated 
in  her  room,  "what  a  pleasure  it  has  been  to  meet  you 
here.  I  hope  our  paths  may  cross  again,  but  we're  such 
wanderers,  Paul  and  I,  that  it  isn't  very  probable.  But 
I  shall  not  forget  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  remember 
me."  Here  she  unlocked  a  trunk,  opened  a  jewel  case, 
and  took  out  an  opal  stick-pin,  which  she  brought  to  me. 
"This  stone  I  picked  up  in  a  quaint,  queer  shop  in  Flor- 
ence. Will  you  accept  it  as  a  souvenir  of  our  acquaint- 
ance?" 

I  thanked  her,  and  took  the  souvenir,  watching,  with 
fascinated  eyes,  the  play  of  colors  in  the  stone.  It  was 
a  finer  opal  than  I  had  ever  seen. 

"Did  you  happen  to  be  bom  in  October?"  she  smil- 
ingly inquired. 

"No,  but  I'm  not  superstitious." 

"Of  course  you  aren't,"  Mrs.  Forsythe's  tone  was 
resonant  with  enthusiasm.  "Miss  Baldwin,  you  don't 
know  what  a  relief  it  is  to  meet  such  a  sensible  girl  as 
you.  Paul  and  I  speak  of  it  often.  You  know,"  with  a 
half -embarrassed  laugh,  "the  poor  fellow  has  a  hard 
time  of  it ;  and  as  the  mother  of  a  handsome  son,  I  have 
my  troubles,  too.  It  practically  amounts  to  this — that 
any  girl  to  whom  Paul  pays  the  least  attention,  jumps  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  wants  to  marry  her ;  and  of  course 
that  spoils  it  all.  But  we  both  saw  at  first  glance  that 
you  are  different.  I  don't  know  when  Paul  has  had  such 
a  good  time  as  he  has  since  we've  been  here.  You're 
so  wholesome,  so  bubbling  over  with  health  and  good 
spirits,  that  it  has  been  a  real  pleasure  to  us  both  to  meet 

85 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

you.  It  only  goes  to  show  that  a  sensible  girl  doesn't 
think  the  one  aim  of  life  is  matrimony.  But, ' '  here  she 
caught  herself  up  sharply,  with  a  glance  at  the  clock,  "I 
mustn't  detain  you.     I  suppose  you  want  to  pack. " 

"Well,"  I  admitted,  "even  a  sensible  girl  does  have 
to  pack  her  trunk — unless  she  can  afford  a  maid. ' ' 

"And  maids  are  more  bother  than  they're  worth, " 
Mrs.  Forsythe  declared,  as  she  scribbled  on  her  card  an 
address  in  a  New  England  city ;  then  she  gave  the  card  to 
me,  saying,  "That  is  where  my  sister  lives.  A  letter  sent 
to  me  there  will  reach  me  finally,  no  matter  where  I  am. 
And  you  must  give  me  your  New  York  address.  I  may 
have  time  to  look  you  up  some  day  when  I  am  passing 
through." 

I  told  her  the  street  and  number  of  the  boarding  house 
where  I  had  lived  two  years.  This  she  wrote  in  an 
address  book.  "If  you've  been  there  two  years,  I  sup- 
pose it  is  satisfactory, ' '  she  said. 

"Somebody  told  me  once,"  said  I,  "that  whatever 
boarding  house  one  went  to,  he'd  wish  he  had  gone  some- 
where else.  But  I  don't  know  any  other  place,  and  so  I 
stay  on  there. ' ' 

"It's  a  good  location,"  she  mused.  "Very  central. 
Paul  might  like  to  know  of  it.  He'll  be  going  to  New 
York  presently,  and,  if  he  really  does  get  interested  in 
studying  law  this  fall,  I  shall  come  on  later.  When  the 
hotel  closes  here,  I'm  going  to  my  sister's  for  a  time, 
and  then  shall  pay  a  round  of  visits.  But  I  hate  to  think 
of  his  being  in  some  hotel  or  boarding  house  where  no 
one  knows  him  in  New  York.  What  is  the  name  of  the 
people  who  keep  that  boarding  house?  'Mead,'  you 
say?"  She  wrote  the  name  in  parentheses,  after  the 
address.  "It  might  be  a  good  place  for  Paul.  I  always 
worry  when  I'm  away  from  him,  for  fear  he  may  be  in- 
jured in  some  accident,  and  not  have  a  soul  to  do  a  thing 
for  him,  or  even  to  let  me  know.  Now  with  you  in  the 
same  house  I  should  feel  safer  about  him.     Then,  if  he 

86 


FLIGHT 

should  happen  to  like  the  table,  and  we  could  get  rooms 
that  suited  us,  we  might  spend  the  winter  there.  But 
dear  me,"  she  sighed,  "we've  been  globe  trotters  so 
long,  that  I  don't  make  plans  any  more.  It  all  depends 
from  day  to  day  on  what  Paul  wants.  But,  in  any  case, 
my  dear, "  she  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks,  "whether  we 
ever  meet  again,  or  not,  I  shall  always  remember  you. 
Good-by." 

"Say  good-by  to  Mr.  Forsythe  for  me,  too,  will  you 
please?"  I  asked,  as,  after  thanking  her  once  more,  I 
again  started  for  the  door. 

"Why,  yes,  if  you  don't  see  him  yourself.  But  you 
probably  will.  He'd  be  so  disappointed  to  miss  you. 
What  train  are  you  going  to  take?" 

"The  first  that  I  can  get  ready  for. " 

"Then  I'll  call  him,"  she  announced. 

"Please  don't,"  I  implored.  "You  know  he  said  last 
night  that  he  had  had  a  hard  day  in  New  York,  and 
meant  to  sleep  late  this  morning.  And  what's  the  differ- 
ence anyway?"  I  added  in  my  most  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"It's  all  in  the  family.  I  have  said  good-by  to  you,  and 
you  will  pass  it  on. ' ' 

"Well,  if  you  put  it  that  way,"  she  agreed,  giving 
me  another  approving  smile,  as  she  finally  let  me  go,  "I 
suppose  the  poor  fellow  does  need  the  sleep. ' ' 


CHAPTER    XIX 
IN  NEW  YORK  AGAIN 

AND  so  it  chanced  that  I  got  away  from  Bay  Side  by 
an  early  train,  without  seeing  Paul  Forsythe 
again.  On  the  way  to  town,  I  told  myself  that  I 
hoped  this  was  the  end  of  it.  This  I  repeated  with  much 
emphasis,  trying  to  convince  myself  that  it  was  true. 

When  the  boat  reached  New  York,  a  recent,  rapid 
shower  had  cooled  the  air,  and  clouds  still  hung  refresh- 
ingly over  the  moist  streets.  I  at  once  sought  Mrs.  Grey 
in  the  down-town  apartment,  where  she  spent  each 
afternoon. 

She  looked  up  dumfounded  as  I  walked  in  the  door. 
^'What  does  this  mean?"  she  demanded,  but  I  caught 
the  welcome  in  her  voice. 

"I  want  to  go  to  work.  Holidays  don't  agree  with 
me. 

Mrs.  Grey  surveyed  me  critically.  "You  don't  look 
as  fit  as  you  ought  to,  that's  a  fact.  What's  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing,"  I  protested,  nervously.  "I 
shall  be  all  right  as  soon  as  I'm  in  harness.  I'm  not 
used  to  a  life  of  leisure,  and  a  little  of  the  rest  cure  goes 
a  long  way  with  me. "  The  work,  piled  up  on  her  desk, 
caught  my  eager  eye.     "What  shall  I  do  first?" 

"Well,"  she  took  up  a  memorandum,  and  carefully 
examined  it.  "I  have  an  appointment  here  with  an  East 
Side  district  visitor  in  half  an  hour.  You  might  see  her 
for  me,  and  let  me  start  uptown.  I  have  to  stop  at  the 
Girls'  Club  on  the  way,  and  a  settlement  house  commit- 
tee is  coming  to  see  me  to-night."    Then,  with  her  usual 


IN  NEW  YORK  AGAIN 

directness  and  brevity,  she  so  put  me  in  touch  with  what 
had  happened  in  my  absence,  that  I  picked  up  the  varied 
threads  of  routine,  and  went  on  as  if  there  had  been  no 
interruption  in  the  work. 

But  otherwise  there  was  a  difference.  The  morning 
after  my  return  I  received  a  note.     It  read  as  follows : 

"My  Dear  Miss  Baldwin: 

"Do  you  call  it  playing  the  game,  to  run  away  like 
this,  and  take  your  address  with  you?  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  Mother,  I  should  never  have  found  it  out  so  easily, 
that  is.  But  never  mind!  It  is  my  move  now,  and  I'm 
coming  to  New  York.  The  game  will  be  continued  in 
our  next.  Yours  till  the  finish, 

* '  Paul  Forsythe.  ' ' 

With  mingled  emotions  I  read  this,  pondering  what 
to  say.  I  wanted  to  say  something,  while  he  was  still  at 
Bay  Side,  that  should  deter  him  from  coming  to  my  board- 
ing house.  Of  course  I  wanted  to  see  him,  too,  but  for 
the  moment  I  was  in  a  courageous  mood.  I  knew  I 
couldn't  go  on  "playing  the  game,"  but  I  didn't  want 
him  to  know  it,  too ;  therefore  it  was  better  that  the  inci- 
dent should  close,  preferably  on  the  note  with  which  it 
opened.  This  preference  of  mine  may  have  sprung  from 
what  is  referred  to  as  "self-respect" ;  then  again,  it  may 
have  been  only  vanity.  At  any  rate,  this  is  what  I 
wrote: 

"My  Dear  Mr.  Forsythe: 

"Just  a  word  or  two  about  the  game!  It  was  a  pleas- 
ant summer  pastime,  for  which  I  have  not  the  leisure 
in  New  York.  Summer  is  over  now,  and  the  game  is 
ended,  too.     Honors  are  even,  I  believe. 

"Sincerely  yours, 

' '  Dorothy  Baldwin.  ' ' 

To  this  there  was  no  reply,  and  I  tried  to  think  that  I 
was  glad  of  it,  despite  the  fact  that  I  caught  myself 

7  89 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

watching  for  the  postman  every  day.  A  week  went  by, 
and  I  oscillated  between  the  office  and  my  hall  bedroom  in 
Mrs.  Mead's  boarding  house.  There  was  nowhere  else 
to  go !  A  man,  even  though  he  was  alone,  could  have 
found  outside  diversion,  when  the  day's  toil  was  done; 
for  instance,  he  could  have  visited  a  roof  garden,  heard 
some  music,  or  lacking  all  else  (except  car  fare)  could 
have  spent  the  evening  on  an  open  car.  I  realize  that  this 
does  not  represent  the  height  of  a  lonely  soul's  ambition, 
but  at  least  it  does  afford  the  opportunity  to  change  the 
current  of  one's  thoughts ;  it  offers  an  alternative  to  soli- 
tary hours  in  the  hall  bedroom  of  a  boarding  house, 
where  the  lighted  gas — if  one  attempts  to  read  in  sum- 
mer time — heats  the  room  to  the  boiling  point,  and 
attracts  mosquitoes  by  the  score. 

Some  one  may  insist  that  even  a  woman  unaccom- 
panied is  not  forbidden  to  patronize  the  open  cars  of  an 
evening;  and  I  grant  there  is  no  law  against  it,  provided 
she  has  the  courage  to  run  the  risk  of  street-comer 
insults,  the  leer  and  smile  of  loungers,  and  to  witness  the 
behavior  of  certain  women  who  habitually  go  out  alone. 
After  a  few  trials  I  gave  up  the  attempt.  Somewhere  in 
my  consciousness  too  deep  to  be  explained  was  the  con- 
viction that  a  nice  girl  didn't  go  anywhere  alone  at 
night.  The  fearwas  ever  before  me  of  being  arrested  by 
mistake ! 

At  times  I  persuaded  one  or  another  of  the  old  ladies 
in  the  boarding  house  to  accompany  me  on  the  open 
cars  in  the  evening.  But  the  old  ladies  didn't  like  the 
crowds;  they  objected,  too,  to  the  whiffs  of  tobacco-smoke, 
and  much  preferred  a  quiet  rubber  at  whist  in  Mrs. 
Mead's  back  parlor.  Truth  to  tell,  I  didn't  relish  over- 
much the  old  ladies'  society;  although  I  endeavored  to 
show  them  the  respect  and  deference  due  to  age,  their 
extreme  sensitiveness  to  draughts  rather  bored  me,  who 
never  had  a  cold ;  and  their  conversation,  largely  in  remi- 
niscent strain,  was  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable  to  the  ears 

90 


IN  NEW  YORK  AGAIN 

of  twenty-one.  Youthful  companionship  was  what  I 
craved,  but  outside  the  girls  of  the  tenements,  among 
whom  I  worked  all  day,  I  didn't  know  a  single  young 
person  in  New  York ;  and  the  week  following  my  return 
from  Bay  Side  I  felt  more  intensely  than  before  the 
holiday  the  prostration,  which  the  same  routine  occasions 
when  no  special  interest  directs  it,  and  no  hope  sustains 
the  worker. 

Early  in  the  second  week,  Mrs.  Forsythe  sent  me  a 
magazine,  and  with  it  a  letter,  in  which  after  mentioning 
casually,  "Before  I  forget  it,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  Paul 
was  glad  to  know  of  the  boarding  house.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  gave  it  a  try, ' '  she  called  my  attention  to 
an  article  she  had  marked  in  the  magazine,  entitled 
"The  New  Woman's  Realm." 

"I  thought  of  you,  when  I  read  it,"  she  wrote.  "Of 
course,  your  life  work  in  the  slums  brings  you  in  contact 
with  different  activities  from  those  mentioned  by  the 
author  of  the  article.  But  the  viewpoint  is  similar,  and 
the  sanity  is  the  same.  By  the  way,  there's  not  much 
sanity  here  since  you  left.  The  Jones  girl — you  remem- 
ber the  pretty  little  fool  in  pink  ? — and  her  mother  are 
making  a  dead  set  at  Paul,  The  poor  fellow  spends 
most  of  his  time  dodging  them.  How  I  wish  you  were 
here  to  rescue  him.  I  always  fell  so  safe  about  him, 
when  he  was  with  you. ' ' 

This  letter  I  tore  through  twice,  and  tossed  into  the 
scrap  basket;  the  magazine,  unopened,  found  the  same 
resting-place,  and  I  sat  and  stared  at  it  in  a  passion  of 
resentment. 

I  wasn't  a  new  woman!  I  was  as  primitive  as  Eve! 
Why  should  Mrs.  Forsythe  take  for  granted  that  my 
* '  life  work' '  was  a  cut  and  dried  affair  at  twenty-one  ? 
What  warrant  had  she  for  assuming  that  I  was  happy  in 
my  isolated  state,  when  I  only  tried  to  make  the  best  of 
it?  Just  because  one  didn't  wear  her  heart  upon  her 
sleeve,  was  she  to  be  credited  with  no  heart  at  all  ?    Why 

91 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

should  this  woman  jump  to  the  conclusion  that,  because 
I  didn't  "make  a  dead  set"  at  her  son,  that  I  was  radi- 
cally different  from  other  girls? 

That  his  marriage  with  any  one  would  be  unwelcome 
to  herself,  I  had  understood  from  the  first  time  I  heard 
her  speak.  Why  then  was  she  so  delighted  to  have  him 
spend  hour  after  hour  with  me  ?  What  was  it  that  made 
me  so  "safe"  ?  Was  it  my  only  mission  to  save  sons  for 
their  mothers?  Why  would  people  insist  on  my  being 
"sensible?" 

"Was  it  because — here  the  resentment  fled  and  only 
misery  remained — was  it  because  they  knew  there  was 
no  chance  for  success  for  me  in  any  other  field ;  I  was 
well  aware  that  I  was  not  a  beauty,  and  that  I  had  no 
advantage  of  wealth  or  station  to  recommend  me.  I  was 
just  an  ordinary  girl,  alone  in  a  big  city,  working  for 
my  living  as  were  thousands  of  other  girls.  I  was  will- 
ing, too,  to  work ;  but  to  be  looked  upon  as  incapable  of 
anything  but  work,  to  be  considered  some  strange,  sex- 
less creature  with  no  share  in  the  common  lot  of  woman- 
hood— that  was  hard  to  bear;  and  it  was  all  the  harder 
because  of  my  own  presentiment. 

When  Mrs.  Forsythe  gave  me  the  opal,  I  told  her  I 
was  not  superstitious,  and  as  regards  the  minor  interests 
of  life,  what  I  told  her  was  the  truth ;  but  touching  the 
possibility  of  happiness  I  was  superstitious  beyond  words. 
Affection  was  all  I  wanted,  and  I  wanted  that  so  much, 
that  the  very  longing  seemed  to  doom  me  to  defeat. 
"Don't  set  your  heart  on  anything, "  I  said  aloud,  gazing 
at  the  scrap  basket,  "for  if  you  do,  you  can't  get  it. " 

This  belief — so  utterly  at  variance  with  the  "New 
Thought"  teaching  of  to-day — resulted  in  a  dogged  deter- 
mination to  cast  out  Paul  Forsythe.  If  I  could  only 
regain  the  old  indifference  to  him,  then  perhaps  he  would 
like  me.  This  possibility  was  too  vague  to  give  much 
comfort;  but  it  did  light  up  a  ray  of  hope.  And  I  was 
so  constituted  as  to  be  incapable  at  that  time  of  any  out- 

92 


IN  NEW  YORK  AGAIN 

look  that  was  impersonal  and  unemotional.  I  had  to 
have  something,  no  matter  how  slight,  to  cling  to,  some- 
thing to  hope  for,  something  to  look  forward  to. 

But  a  sense  of  my  own  helplessness,  and  Paul  For- 
sythe's  magnificence,  came  over  me  anew.  I  fell  upon 
my  knees.  "Dear  God,"  I  whispered,  "won't  you — 
won't  you — make  him  like  me?    I'll  be  so  good. " 


CHAPTER  XX 
PURSUIT 

THE  clatter  of  a  chambermaid  coming  down  the  hall 
roused  me;  and  the  clock  in  the  steeple  of  the 
church  across  the  street  sounded  the  warning 
that  it  was  high  time  I  started  officeward.  Quickly  I 
rose,  donned  coat  and  hat,  and  with  a  farewell  glance  at 
the  disturbing  letter  in  the  scrap  basket,  set  out  for  the 
day's  work. 

It  was  a  particularly  busy  day,  and  I  was  detained  at 
the  office  till  long  past  the  usual  hour  of  leaving.  When 
I  reached  the  boarding  house,  I  was  so  tired — physical 
fatigue  being  intensified  by  mental  weariness — that  on 
the  doorstep  I  deliberated  whether  it  would  not  be  better 
to  dispense  with  dinner  and  go  straight  upstairs  to  bed. 
But  I  knew  I  couldn't  sleep  so  soon,  and  the  chatter  of 
the  old  ladies,  as  they  dallied  with  their  food,  seemed  less 
terrible  than  the  silence  and  solitude  of  my  room ;  besides, 
it  was  so  late,  there  would  be  less  chattering  than  usual 
in  the  dining-room,  for  the  few  season  guests  who  had 
returned  to  town,  were  already  gathered  in  the  parlor  for 
their  evening  game  of  whist. 

"Pretty  late  for  dinner,  Miss  Baldwin,"  called  out 
one  of  them,  as  I  passed  the  door  on  my  way  down- 
stairs. 

* '  Better  late  than  never  though, ' '  chimed  in  another 
voice  from  the  card  table,  "especially  to-night." 

The  meaning  of  these  words,  and  the  smile  with 
which  they  were  accompanied,  did  not  dawn  on  me,  till  I 
opened  the  door  leading  from  the  basement  stairway  to 

94 


PURSUIT 

the  lower  hall.  Glancing  thence  into  the  dining-room 
beyond,  I  caught  sight  of  Paul  Forsythe. 

He  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  me,  at  the  foot  of  the 
long  table  in  the  place  next  mine.  No  one  else  was 
there.  For  an  instant,  clutching  at  the  door-knob,  I 
stood  and  looked  at  him.  I  remember  that  outside  a 
hurdy-gurdy  played ;  and  I  could  hear  the  laughter  of 
some  children  down  the  block.  This  intensified  the 
stillness  in  the  house. 

Suddenly  he  turned.  I  took  one  step  forward,  and  he 
started  up  to  meet  me;  halting  on  the  threshold,  and 
stretching  out  both  hands,  he  drew  me  very  gently  into 
the  dining-room ;  then  pulled  out  my  chair  from  the  table, 
seated  me,  pushed  the  chair  back  into  its  place,  and 
quietly  resumed  his  own  place  at  my  right.  All  this 
time  neither  of  us  spoke. 

Then  the  waitress  came  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  Mr. 
Forsythe  broke  the  silence  with  a  flow  of  small  talk  that 
lasted  through  the  meal ;  but  even  from  the  first,  I  recog- 
nized a  change  in  him,  and  every  day  the  change  grew 
more  pronounced.  In  his  manner  now,  there  was  noth- 
ing of  challenge.  It  was  as  if  the  letters  we  had  ex- 
changed on  the  subject  of  "the  game"  had  never  been 
thought  of.  Badinage,  which  had  formed  the  basis  of  our 
companionship  at  Bay  Side,  was  banished  now,  and  in  its 
stead  he  emphasized  the  note  of  tenderness,  of  serious- 
ness, of  protective  care.  He  said  little:  he  implied 
everything.  Beneath  even  his  most  commonplace  remark 
was  the  tacit  implication — which  formed  the  perfection 
of  appeal  to  a  lonely,  tired  girl — "You're  working  far 
too  hard,  and  I'm  glad  I'm  here  to  look  after  you." 

So  thoroughly  was  this  looking  after  attended  to,  that 
the  dear  old  ladies  in  Mrs.  Mead's  boarding  house  be- 
lieved that  a  beautiful  romance  was  budding  beneath 
their  very  eyes ;  from  the  day  of  Paul  Forsythe's  arrival, 
when  he  mentioned  to  the  landlady  our  meeting  at  the 
seashore — which  she    promptly  communicated    to  her 

95 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

guests — they  fairly  bubbled  over  with  anticipation  and 
sympathy.  The  young  man's  good  looks,  his  distin- 
guished air,  his  devoted  manner  to  myself,  and  his  ex- 
quisite courtesy  to  them,  all  made  a  great  impression  on 
the  elderly  company,  who  individually  insisted  on  telling 
me  that  I  was  a  lucky  girl.  "There  aren't  many  like 
him  nowadays, ' '  they  said. 

At  Bay  Side,  Mrs.  Forsythe  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
exclaiming  a  dozen  times  a  day,  ' '  Paul  is  the  best  man 
on  earth. "  Then  I  had  attributed  her  belief  to  maternal 
partiality,  but  now  I  came  to  share  it.  And  I  fought  no 
more  against  the  thought  of  him ;  I  banished  melancholy 
musings  on  the  past,  and  sad  forebodings  for  the  future, 
too.  I  just  lived  from  day  to  day,  and  was  happier  than 
I  had  ever  been. 

Summer  lingered  late  that  year,  September  was  like 
June,  and  the  evenings  we  usually  spent  outdoors. 
Heretofore,  I  had  seen  nothing  of  New  York  at  night,  but 
Mr.  Forsythe  now  introduced  me  to  many  forms  of  enter- 
tainment, many  diverting  scenes;  and  found  much  enjoy- 
ment— so  he  said — in  watching  my  fresh,  enthusiastic 
interest. 

On  our  way  home  from  my  first  visit  to  a  roof  gar- 
den, which  I  thought  as  wonderful  as  fairyland,  we 
dropped  in  at  the  restaurant  of  a  quiet,  dignified  hotel. 
This,  too,  was  a  new  experience,  and  I  was  so  taken  up 
with  the  surroundings,  and  so  impressed  with  the  wait- 
er's deference,  as  to  be  quite  indifferent  to  the  bill  of 
fare,  which  Mr.  Forsythe  was  studying.  At  last  he 
looked  up. 

"What  are  you  going  to  have  to  eat?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  anything  to  eat,''  I  cried,  as  if 
eating  were  the  last  activity  appropriate  in  a  restaurant. 

"It  is  pretty  hot  to  eat,"  he  agreed.  "Well,  then, 
what  are  you  going  to  have  to  drink?" 

Promptly  I  brought  out  the  name  of  my  favorite  bev- 
erage.    "A  chocolate  ice-cream  soda." 

96  . 


PURSUIT 

He  laughed  his  velvet  laugh.  And  with  a  long  look 
from  his  considering,  caressing  eyes  replied,  "You're  a 
very  inexpensive  young  lady.  Here  I  was  prepared  to 
spread  the  wine  list  at  your  feet. ' ' 

"And  that's  where  it  belongs — underfoot,"  said  I. 

He  laughed  his  velvet  laugh  again,  and  bowed.  "Miss 
White  Ribbon,  I  make  you  my  apologies.  For  the  mo- 
ment I  forgot  that  in  your  native  State  they  down  the 
demon  rum.  I  suppose  you  signed  the  pledge  as  soon  as 
you  learned  to  write?" 

I  acknowledged  it. 

"And  so  the  Band  of  Hope  is  going  to  have  a  choco- 
late— ice — cream — soda?"  The  words  seemed  a  mile 
long  as  he  drew  them  out. 

"The  Band  of  Hope  may  possibly  have  two,"  I 
warned  him.     "But  don't  you  like  ice-cream  soda?" 

He  hesitated.  "You  see,  I  can't  remember.  It's  fif- 
teen years  at  least,  since  I've  been  up  against  a  proposi- 
tion of  that  sort."  Then  to  the  waiter,  who  hovered 
expectantly,  he  said,  "Bring  a  chocolate  ice-cream  soda 
for  the  young  lady.  And  for  me — h'm — well, "  throwing 
down  the  menu  card,  "Lalla  Rookh. " 

This  was  too  much  for  my  gravity.  "I've  heard  they 
had  Bibles  in  some  New  York  hotels  for  the  use  of  the 
guests, ' '  I  chuckled,  when  the  waiter  had  disappeared, 
"but  I  never  supposed  they  had  poetry,  too." 

It  was  now  his  turn  to  be  mystified.  "Whatever  do 
you  mean?"  In  mock  alarm  he  bent  toward  me.  "I 
shall  never  forgive  myself  if  that  rotten  roof  garden 
show  has  produced  temporary  aberration  of  the  mind. 
Who  said  anything  about  poetry?" 

"Why,  you  said  ' Lalla  Rookh. '  I've  never  read  it. 
But  it  is  poetry,  isn't  it?" 

At  this  he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  sat  watching 
me  with  indolent  amusement.  "Wait  and  see,"  he 
said.  ' '  One  never  can  be  sure  beforehand.  It  all  de- 
pends upon  the  chef. " 

97 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

'  *  Oh, ' '  said  I,  much  abashed  at  the  enlightenment. 

When  the  ice-cream  soda  was  set  before  me,  I  was — 
to  tell  the  truth — a  little  ashamed  of  it,  for  my  compan- 
ion still  seemed  to  look  upon  it  as  a  joke.  But  all  of  a 
sudden  I  remembered  the  fable  of  the  country  mouse, 
and  the  city  mouse ;  and  with  a  desperate  resolve  to  be 
loyal  to  the  beverage  of  my  college  days,  I  drained  the 
chocolate  ice-cream  soda  to  the  dregs. 

Meantime  Mr.  Forsythe  had  attacked,  in  the  guarded 
manner  of  the  connoisseur,  the  Lalla  Rookh.  "Yes,  it's 
poetry,"  he  announced  with  a  judicial  air.  "Won't  you 
have  a  copy  for  yourself?  There's  more  where  this  came 
from." 

' '  No,  thank  you. ' '  But  the  words  were  a  little  wist- 
ful, and  I  eyed  his  glass  with  interest. 

"Well  then,"  he  suggested,  pushing  the  glass  toward 
me,  ' '  have  a  verse  of  mine. ' ' 

Gingerly  I  dipped  in  a  spoon,  and  tasted  the  punch. 
"What's  it  made  of?"  And  then,  not  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer, "Oh,  it's  good,"  I  said. 

"As  good  as  a — chocolate — ice- — cream — soda?" 

"Better,"  I  declared.  "And,"  wonderingly  I  looked 
at  him,  "to  think  that  I  had  never  even  heard  of  it!  It's 
a — a  sort  of  liberal  education  to  know  you, ' '  I  stam- 
mered. 

My  hands  were  toying  nervously  with  the  menu  card, 
and  he  reached  across  the  little  table,  and  held  them  for 
an  instant  in  his  own.  "You're  an  apt  pupil,  Dorothy," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.     "I'll  teach  you  all  I  know. " 


,'l 


CHAPTER    XXI 
THE  MOTHER'S  ATTITUDE 

THE  first  interruption  in  this  course  of  teaching 
(which  then  concerned  itself  with  dinners,  drives, 
and  theaters)  came  three  weeks  later,  when  on 
Friday,  he  announced  that  he  was  going  out  of  town  for 
the  week-end.  From  what  he  said,  I  assumed  that  he 
was  to  join  his  mother  at  her  sister's  in  New  England; 
on  his  return,  however,  he  made  no  reference  to  the  trip, 
nor  did  he  give  me  any  message  from  Mrs.  Forsythe. 
And  of  course  I  asked  no  questions. 

As  a  rule,  we  breakfasted  together,  he  and  I,  before 
the  other  boarders  were  astir ;  and  of  the  two,  Mr.  For- 
sythe was  usually  the  more  prompt  nowadays.  But  on 
the  third  morning  after  his  return,  it  happened  that  I 
reached  the  breakfast- table  first.  As  I  had  never  seen  a 
letter  addressed  to  him  at  the  boarding  house,  I  was 
under  the  impression  that  he  received  his  mail  elsewhere. 

This  morning,  however,  there  was  a  letter  at  his 
place,  and  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  it  was  addressed 
in  a  dashing  feminine  hand,  and  bore  the  postmark  of 
"Waban, "  a  Boston  suburb.  When  he  came  in,  and 
caught  sight  of  the  envelope,  an  expression  of  annoyance 
crossed  his  face ;  two  days  later,  the  same  thing  occurred. 
And  again  in  three  days  more ;  but  on  this  occasion  the 
near-Boston  missive  was  accompanied  by  a  letter  from 
his  mother.  This  he  opened,  begging  my  pardon ;  read 
it,  and  with  a  sigh  exclaimed : 

"Poor  mother!  She  hasn't  seen  me  for  a  month. 
I've  never  been  away  from  her  quite  so  long  before,  and 

99 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

I  guess  she  doesn't  like  it."  He  folded  the  letter,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  "That  means  that  I  go  East  again, " 
the  "again"  slipped  out  as  if  unwittingly,  "and  bring 
her  back  with  me. ' ' 

The  arrival  of  Mrs.  Forsythe  at  the  boarding  house 
introduced  a  disturbing  element.  I  was  conscious  of  some 
subtle  change  in  her  attitude  to  me.  It  may  have  been 
that  she  had  pondered  on  the  perils  of  propinquity,  even 
with  the  "safest"  of  girls,  and  it  may  have  been  that 
she  was  not  well.  I  have  no  wish  to  judge  her:  I  only 
know  that  I  could  do  nothing  right.  She  would  ask  me 
to  sit  with  her  in  her  room  to  keep  her  company,  and 
then  she  would  criticise  everything  I  said;  when,  in 
despair,  I  held  my  peace,  she  would  chide  me  for  silence. 
She  even  found  fault  with  Paul  in  public. 

At  mealtime  I  was  on  pins  and  needles,  for  I  never 
knew  what  to  expect  from  her.  Her  son,  too,  was  ill  at 
ease ;  nor  were  we  the  only  individuals  concerned.  Every 
one  at  the  table  where  we  sat  showed  embarrassment  in 
the  presence  of  a  situation  which  it  would  be  indiscreet 
to  recognize.  The  atmosphere  was  heavy  with  the  sense 
of  a  crisis  imminent. 

I  saw  little  of  Paul  alone — his  mother  would  scarcely 
let  me  out  of  her  sight,  save  to  go  to  business  or  to  bed 
— but,  in  one  chance  meeting  on  the  stairs  during  that 
first  week,  he  told  me  that  he  had  engaged  an  apartment 
for  the  winter  for  his  mother  and  himself  at  the  Meri- 
den,  a  family  hotel,  two  blocks  away.  ' '  It  will  be  easier 
for  all  of  us, ' '  he  said.  And  then,  with  an  accent  that 
was  a  caress,  "Just  trust  me,  Dorothy." 

Years  afterward,  some  one  told  me  that  the  day 
before  they  left,  one  of  the  old  ladies  in  Mrs.  Mead's 
boarding  house,  weary  of  beating  about  the  bush,  asked 
Mrs.  Forsythe  point-blank,  if  Paul  and  I  were  engaged. 

"Engaged?"  she  cried.  "My  son  engaged?  Of 
course  not.     Not  to  anybody. ' ' 

I  knew  nothing  of  this  then.  And  on  her  departure 
100 


THE  MOTHER'S  ATTITUDE 

for  the  Meriden,  Mrs.  Forsythe  was  in  high  spirits,  and 
addressed  me  thus :  '  *  You  must  run  in  to  see  me  very 
often.  It  is  so  near,  that  it  won't  be  any  trouble  for  you 
at  all.  And  it  will  cheer  me  up.  Paul  has  so  many 
friends,  and  so  many  places  to  go,  that  I  have  to  fill  the 
empty  hours  as  best  I  can.  And  I  know, ' '  she  added, 
with  a  keen  look,  "that  you  aren't  the  girl  to  ignore  me 
when  my  son  is  out  of  sight.  The  woods  are  full  of  girls 
that  cultivate  me  for  what  they  hope  to  get  out  of  Paul, 
but  we  both  saw  at  first  glance  that  you  were  different. 
I  shall  look  for  you  very  soon. ' ' 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  her  anticipation  would  have 
been  long  unfulfilled,  had  not  Paul  begged  me  to  give  his 
mother  as  much  time  as  I  could.  ' 'Please  be  good  to 
her,"  he  said.  "She  really  likes  you  better  than  she 
does  anybody  else.  She  can't  bear  to  have  it  mentioned, 
but  she  suffers  from  a  disease  that  makes  her  irritable  at 
times.  You  can  help  me  very  much  by  bearing  with  her 
moods. ' ' 

That  was  enough  for  me.  And  I  went  frequently  to 
see  Mrs.  Forsythe  when  I  was  sure  that  her  son  was  not  at 
home.  Him  I  saw  less  often  than  before,  but  every  few 
days  he  would  write  to  me,  calling  my  attention  to  some 
newspaper  article,  suggesting  that  I  read  a  certain  book 
or  magazine,  see  some  picture  at  an  art  gallery,  or  view 
some  new  purchase  at  the  Metropolitan  Museum.  "It  is 
needless  to  say,"  he  wrote  me  many,  many  times,  "how 
great  an  interest  I  take  in  your  development.  I  am  liv- 
ing for  the  future  now. ' ' 

At  any  rate,  /  was  living  for  the  future.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  see  in  retrospect  how  futile  it  all  was.  But  to 
a  simple-minded,  inexperienced  girl  whose  life  had  been 
singularly  devoid  of  tenderness,  this  friendship  opened  up 
rosy  vistas  by  whose  light  I  saw  the  present  only  as  a 
training  school,  in  which,  please  God,  I  might  become 
the  woman  Paul  Forsythe  wanted  me  to  be.  To  be  sure, 
he  had  never  in  so  many  words  said  he  loved  me ;  and  at 

101 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

times  I  reminded  myself,  that  no  woman  had  a  right  to 
take  for  granted  an  affection  that  was  undeclared.  But 
at  the  reminder,  every  drop  of  blood  in  my  body  would 
protest  against  the  charge;  insisting  that  I  assumed 
nothing,  I  asked  nothing,  either  now  or  for  the  future. 
Love  was  not  a  matter  of  barter :  it  was  a  gift.  Paul  was 
the  best  man  on  earth.  How  could  any  one  help  loving 
him?  He  had  asked  me  to  trust  him.  And  I  did  trust 
him  implicitly. 

Paul  and  his  mother  I  tried  to  keep  separate  in  my 
thought.  But  I  could  not  forget  that  Mrs.  Forsythe  had 
brought  Paul  into  the  world,  and  she  was  the  dearer  to 
me  for  every  resemblance  to  her  son.  During  that  win- 
ter she  came  to  rely  upon  me  more  and  more,  to  do 
errands  for  her,  and  to  keep  her  company;  though  I  re- 
sponded to  her  frequent  summons,  first  of  all  for  Paul, 
I  had  a  very  genuine  sympathy  for  her.  And  I  am 
grateful  to  remember  now  that  she  often  spoke  to  me 
of  my  "charity,"  my  unwillingness  to  criticise.  "The 
trouble  is  with  myself, ' '  she  said  one  day  in  a  burst  of 
confidence,  "I'm  out  of  tune  with  everything." 

At  times  she  was  very  kind  to  me.  Perhaps  in  a  shop 
to  which  she  had  asked  me  to  accompany  her,  she  would 
purchase  some  dainty,  delicate-hued  material  for  a  frock ; 
and  then  when  the  package  was  delivered  at  the  Meri- 
den,  she  would  toss  it  over  to  me,  saying,  with  a  smile, 
"That's  what  suits  the  likes  o'  ye.  Have  it  made  up 
becomingly."  Or  some  stormy  morning  she  would 
despatch  a  note  to  me  at  breakfast-time,  full  of  affection- 
ate regret,  that  on  such  a  bad  day  I  could  not  stay  in- 
doors. I  used  to  wonder  now  and  then,  that  she  who 
feared  for  me  the  dangers  of  a  wintry  sky,  should  not 
sometimes  foresee  the  possibility  of  graver  injury. 

Unless  by  special  invitation  I  never  went  to  the  Meri- 
den  in  the  evening  or  at  any  time  when  I  had  reason  to 
believe  that  Paul  was  there ;  but  if  I  did  not  report  at 
least  twice  a  week  on  my  way  home  from  business  in  the 

102 


THE  MOTHER'S  ATTITUDE 

late  afternoon — an  hour  when  I  was  almost  sure  to  find 
Mrs.  Forsythe  alone — she  called  me  to  account.  Often 
she  invited  me  to  dine  and  go  to  the  theater.  Sometimes 
she  accompanied  Paul  and  me ;  at  other  times  she  sent  us 
off  without  her.  In  return  she  seemed  to  expect  me  to 
spend  the  night  with  her  when  Paul  was  away  from 
home,  and  I  never  knew  beforehand  in  what  mood  she 
would  be.  She  would  talk  to  me  by  the  hour  of  Paul, 
appealing  to  me  every  little  while  to  know  if  such  or 
such  an  exploit  of  her  son's  was  not  "wonderful."  She 
heeded  little  my  assent;  but  had  it  been  withheld,  or,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  it  sprung  forth  too  eagerly,  she 
would  have  been  up  in  arms. 


CHAPTER    XXII 
RAE  DILLABEN 

DROPPING  in  at  the  Meriden  one  afternoon  in  early 
spring,  I  found  with  Mrs.  Forsythe  a  stranger 
whom  she  introduced  as  Miss  Dillaben,  from 
Waban.  The  name  of  the  town  struck  home,  for  it  was 
that  of  the  Boston  suburb  which  postmarked  the  envel- 
opes I  had  seen  addressed  to  Paul  the  preceding  autumn 
at  the  boarding  house.  The  color  flamed  in  my  cheeks 
as  I  gave  Miss  Dillaben  a  swift,  embarrassed  glance. 
She,  in  turn,  was  narrowly,  though  smilingly,  observing 
me.  Each  of  us  beneath  her  surface  cordiality  was 
searching  the  other's  face  for  some  betrayal  of  Paul's 
whereabouts,  and  shrinking,  too,  from  finding  what  she 
sought. 

Miss  Dillaben  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  woman,  who 
would  attract  attention  anywhere.  She  was  older  than 
I,  and  had  more  repose  of  manner ;  yet  I  noted  that  her 
own  color  deepened  as  Mrs.  Forsythe  explained  that  she 
had  come  for  a  week's  visit,  but  through  some  mischance 
Paul — here  the  mother  turned  anxiously  to  the  clock — 
had  failed  to  meet  her.  "The  poor  girl  had  to  find  her 
way  down  here  alone.  I  can't  think  what  is  keeping 
him, ' '  she  said. 

Presently  he  himself  appeared,  and,  for  a  moment, 
stared  blankly  at  Miss  Dillaben.  "I've  been  waiting  at 
the  station  all  this  time.     When  did  you  get  in  ?' ' 

Then  it  came  to  light  that  she  had  carelessly  misin- 
formed him  about  trains.  His  evident  annoyance  height- 
ened her  embarrassment,  and  there  was  an  awkward  mo- 

104 


RAE  DILLABEN 

ment  for  us  all,  which  I  attempted  to  cut  short  by 
making  my  escape. 

Paul  went  with  me  to  the  elevator.  It  was  only  a  few 
steps,  and  I  was  conscious  that  his  eyes  were  on  me,  but 
I  wouldn't  look  at  him.  I  wanted  to  get  away  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  impulsively  reached  out  my  hand  to  ring 
the  elevator-bell.  In  my  hurry  I  had  not  put  on  my 
gloves. 

Quietly  he  covered  my  hand  with  his  own,  and  pre- 
vented me  from  summoning  the  lift ;  then  he  drew  me  to 
an  alcove  near.  The  halls  were  not  yet  lighted.  No 
one  was  in  sight. 

' '  I  shall  be  more  tied  up  this  week  than  ever,  Doro- 
thy,"  he  said.  "But  mother's  guest  goes  home  on  Sat- 
urday. Will  you  dine  with  me — just  you  and  I — that 
evening  as  reward  of  merit  for  what  I  must  endure  till 
then?    Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  at  last,  lifting  a  tremulous  glance  to 
his  face.  Swiftly  he  bent  and  kissed  my  fingers.  A  mo- 
ment later  I  was  in  the  elevator,  counting  the  hours  till 
Saturday. 

But  when  Saturday  arrived,  he  sent  me  word  that  he 
was  called  away,  so  the  dinner  would  have  to  be  post- 
poned.    Mrs.  Forsythe,  too,  wrote  me  as  follows : 

"My  Dear: 

"I'm  half  sick  as  consequence  of  helping  Paul  give 
Rae  Dillaben  a  good  time  in  New  York.  She  went  home 
yesterday,  and  to-day  Paul  was  called  out  of  town.  He 
will  be  away  till  Monday,  so  please  come  over  right 
away  to  rescue  the  perishing. 

"Affectionately, 

"Caroline  Forsythe." 

I  went,  and  remained  with  her  till  Monday.     Among 
other  things  she  said  to  me:  "Next  fall,  Rae  is  coming 
to   New  York  to  study  painting,  so  she  says.     But,  of 
8  105 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

course,  I  know  what  is  bringing  her.  There  are  just  as 
good  teachers  in  Boston  as  New  York,  and  the  Dillabens 
aren't  over  and  above  supplied  with  this  world's  goods, 
so  Boston  would  be  better  for  her  every  way,  only, ' '  lay- 
ing a  finger  on  my  knee  impressively,  "Paul  is  in  New 
York,     That  makes  all  the  difference. ' ' 

"Mrs,  Forsythe, "  I  burst  out  excitedly,  "I  think 
you're  too  bad.  You  accuse  us  all  as  if  we  were  running 
after  your  son,  and — ' '  The  tension  broke  in  a  rush  of 
hysterical  tears,  "we  aren't.*' 

She  turned  to  me  in  surprise,  and  murmured  sooth- 
ingly, "There,  there,  sit  still,  my  heart,  sit  still."  I 
made  no  reply,  and  she  presently  went  on  in  a  different 
tone:  "I  know  you  aren't,  my  dear.  I  tell  everybody 
you  are  the  one  girl,  the  only  girl,  that  never  goes  one 
step  out  of  her  way  on  Paul's  account.  But  the  others 
.  .  .  !"  She  threw  up  her  hands.  "I  wasn't  bom  yes- 
terday, I  know  what  I  know  and  the  rest  I  can  guess. 
When  we  first  met  Rae  Dillaben,  five  years  ago,  abroad, 
Paul  didn't  care  a  rap  for  her.  Afterward  she  got  some 
hold  on  him.  But  if  I  know  the  signs,  her  day's  about 
over  now;  and  she  suspects  it,  too,  or  she  wouldn't  be 
coming  bag  and  baggage  to  New  York  next  fall.  But 
I'm  perfectly  sure  in  my  own  mind  he'll  never  marry 
her.  For  one  thing,  he  cares  too  much  for  my  hap- 
piness, ' ' 

"But  you  aren't  happy!"  I  exclaimed,  "You  often 
say  so. " 

"Well,  I'm  happier  than  I'd  be  with  a  daughter-in- 
law.  And,"  with  a  grim  smile,  "for  that  matter,  so  is 
she," 

The  whole  tone  of  this  conversation  was  extremely 
painful  to  me,  and  I  tried  to  turn  Mrs.  Forsythe 's 
thoughts  to  other  channels.  What  she  had  said,  how- 
ever, I  could  not  easily  forget ;  and  as  I  pondered  late  at 
night,  there  crept  into  my  mind  some  doubt  of  Paul's 
sincerity. 

106 


RAE  DILLABEN 

But  when  I  saw  him  again,  this  was  banished  by  his 
gentleness,  by  the  patience  with  which  he  met  his 
mother's  petulance,  and  by  his  manner  to  myself.  Aside 
from  the  calm  protective  air  to  which  he  had  accustomed 
me,  there  was  now  the  implication  that  whoever  else  in 
the  wide  universe  might  misjudge  him,  he  could  depend 
on  me.  Watching  him  on  his  return  to  the  Meriden  I 
reproached  myself  for  permitting  Mrs.  Forsythe's  re- 
marks to  influence  me  even  momentarily. 

"I  can't  tell  you  what  a  comfort  it  was  to  know  you 
were  with  mother  while  I  was  away,"  he  said.  "An 
annoying  piece  of  business  called  me  to  Vermont.  We 
own  some  property  up  there,  and  I  make  a  flying  visit 
now  and  then.  But  feeling  at  ease  about  mother  this 
time  because  you  were  with  her  here,  I  attended  to  busi- 
ness thoroughly,  and  sha'n't  have  to  go  there  for  some 
time  again.     You're  a  great  help,  Dorothy." 

When  we  were  alone,  he  always  called  me  "Dorothy, " 
and  I  have  mentioned  his  kissing  my  hand  in  the  twilight 
of  the  hall  the  day  I  met  Miss  Dillaben.  But  thus  far 
this  was  all.  Everything  he  did  or  refrained  from  doing 
was  calculated  to  inspire  confidence.  His  manner  was 
eloquent  of  that  deep  respect,  that  reverence,  which  is  so 
dear  to  womankind.  He  had  no  need,  indeed,  of  re- 
course to  passion's  beaten  track :  he  blazed  his  own  trail 
through  the  labyrinth  of  subtlety.  At  his  will,  his  voice 
enwrapped  the  listener  in  a  mantle  of  tenderness ;  every 
gesture,  every  breath,  was  an  embrace  intensified. 

Some  one  has  written,  "If  we  begin  by  overrating 
the  being  we  love,  we  shall  end  by  treating  him  with 
wholesale  injustice."  I  did  so  begin,  but  I  wish  not  so 
to  end.  Above  all  things  I  desire  to  be  just,  both  to  him 
and  to  myself.  In  this  connection  I  recall  that  some 
years  later  I  heard  a  woman  comment  on  Paul  Forsythe. 
She  was  a  woman  long  past  the  heydey  of  youth,  a 
woman,  too,  who  had  been  twice  married  and  had  brought 
up  successfully  a  large  family  of  children.     This  is  what 

107 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

she  said:  "He  is  a  very  dangerous  man;  not  because  he 
is  handsome — on  the  whole  I  don't  think  women  care 
especially  for  a  handsome  man — but  because  of  his 
deceptive  manner.  He  is  always  cautious,  careful  not  to 
bind  himself  by  word.  But  his  manner  toward  any 
woman  with  whom  he  chooses  to  beguile  the  tedium  of 
an  idle  hour,  is  such  as  to  justify  her  in  believing  him  to 
be  in  love  with  her.  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  the  havoc 
he  has  wrought. " 


CHAPTER  XXm 
EASTERTIDE 

LENT  came  late  that  year,  and  it  was  two  months 
after  Miss  Dillaben's  visit  to  New  York  that,  one 
evening  in  Easter  week,  I  sat  in  Carnegie  Hall, 
listening  to  the  annual  concert  of  an  oratorio  society  to 
which  Paul  belonged.  Ostensibly  I  was  listening,  but 
in  reality  I  was  deaf  to  all  the  music,  and  blind  to  every- 
thing except  one  figure  on  the  stage. 

When  Paul  brought  me  the  ticket  for  this  orchestra 
chair — instead  of  assigning  me  to  the  gallery,  where  the 
members'  friends  usually  sat — he  said  that  he  didn't  want 
me  to  climb  all  those  stairs.  But  to  me,  the  immense 
advantage  of  the  orchestra  was  that  I  could  see  him  bet- 
ter. In  the  intervals,  he  would  smile  across  the  stage  to 
the  aisle  chair  where  I  sat  demure  and  happy  in  a  new 
Easter  frock  and  hat ;  yet,  despite  the  fact  that  I  could 
watch  him,  the  concert  did  seem  rather  long,  for  had  not 
Paul  said  that  afterward  we  would  have  supper  at  my 
favorite  restaurant?  I  didn't  care  for  supper,  but  he  had 
been  very  busy  lately,  and  I  had  seen  him  much  less  often 
than  usual. 

In  the  restaurant,  I  gave  myself  up  to  complete  enjoy- 
ment of  the  setting  he  had  provided  for  the  tete-a-tete. 
Our  table  was  in  a  quiet  corner  where,  secure  in  the 
shelter  of  his  conspicuousness,  I  could  peer  out  on  the 
gay  scene  with  a  delicious  sense  of  being  spectator,  not 
participant. 

"How  lovely  everything  is,"  I  sighed,  luxuriously, 
halfway  through  the  meal. 

109 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"But  you're  not  eating  enough  to  keep  a  bird 
alive." 

"Oh,"  toying  with  a  fork,  "I'm  too  happy  to  eat  to- 
night." 

"And  what  makes  you  so  happy,  little  girl?"  His 
voice  was  very  low. 

"I — I — don't  know,"  I  faltered.  "Just  everything,  I 
guess. ' ' 

There  was  a  long  pause.  I  felt  his  eyes  compelling 
mine.  Finally,  I  looked  at  him  and  then  swiftly  looked 
away. 

"So  you  think  it's  a  pretty  good  world?"  he  asked, 
gently. 

Silence  gave  consent. 

"Well,  so  do  I — to-night,"  he  said.  And  the  way  he 
said  it  filled  my  cup  of  joy  to  overflowing,  "And  it's 
going  to  be  better  still. " 

After  that  there  was  silence  for  the  most  part;  and  in 
the  little  that  was  said  neither  seemed  to  speak  deliber- 
ately. But  every  motion  was  full  of  meaning — the  slight 
flicker  of  the  gas,  the  quiver  of  the  hands,  the  vibration 
of  the  breathing.  It  was  as  if  an  indwelling  voice  in 
each  called  to  the  other  across  unsounded  depths ;  as  if  in 
the  whole  world  we  two  were  alone. 

By  and  by  I  looked  around  me  with  a  start.  The 
room  was  much  less  crowded  now  than  it  had  been  at 
first ;  as  people  left,  their  places  were  no  longer  seized 
upon  by  new  arrivals ;  the  soft-footed  waiters,  who  had 
been  such  unobtrusive  features  heretofore,  stood  out 
with  sudden  distinctness ;  here  and  there  a  light  was 
being  lowered;  the  orchestra  were  packing  up  their  in- 
struments.    At  last  we  rose  to  go. 

The  short  distance  to  the  boarding  house  we  traversed 
quickly,  silently.  On  the  door-step,  with  trembling  fin- 
gers, I  gave  Paul  the  latchkey.  He  opened  the  outer 
door  and  motioned  me  into  the  vestibule;  then,  follow- 
ing, he  placed  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  inside  door  and 

110 


EASTERTIDE 

almost  closed  the  outer  door ;  then,  without  a  word,  he 
took  me  in  his  arms. 

I  made  not  the  slightest  effort  to  resist  him.  Instead, 
stunned  into  a  rapturous  silence  and  lifted  in  his  em- 
brace, I  drew  my  arm  closer  around  his  neck  with  a  sigh 
of  content  and  confidence. 

"You're  going  to  be  mine,  Dorothy,  mine,"  he 
breathed. 

"Why,  I  am,"  I  whispered,  when  I  could  get  my 
breath.     ' '  I — I — kissed  you  back  again. ' ' 

But  there  was  a  soimd  outside.  People  were  ap- 
proaching. Suddenly  Paul  released  me  and,  turning  the 
key  in  the  lock,  opened  the  inside  door  and,  with  a  quick 
farewell  caress,  pushed  me  into  the  hall.  A  second  later 
I  heard  the  outside  door  bang  behind  him. 

Then  I  went  upstairs.  The  halls  were  dark,  but  I 
seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  a  blaze  of  light  as,  throbbing 
with  happy  thoughts,  I  hurried  to  my  room.  There,  first 
of  all,  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  thanked  God  for  Paul's 
love.  To  me  a  kiss  was  sacred ;  I  had  never  kissed  any 
man  till  now,  and  from  Paul's  kissing  me  I  believed  he 
wished  to  marry  me.  I  also  believed  that,  in  answer  to 
prayer,  the  miracle  had  been  wrought  by  which  I  had 
found  favor  in  his  sight.  Very  earnestly  I  prayed  that  I 
might  prove  not  unworthy  of  this  priceless  gift. 

For  a  long  time  I  lay  awake  musing  on  the  difference 
which  this  evening's  episode  would  bring  into  three 
lives;  three,  because  I  did  not  forget  Paul's  mother. 
When  he  told  her,  just  as  first,  I  feared  she  would  be 
much  displeased.  But  she  could  not  expect  him  to  remain 
unmarried  always ;  and  if  she  must  have  a  daughter-in- 
law,  I  thought  she  could  not  intrinsically  object  to  me. 

Then  I  remembered  Miss  Dillaben,  and  a  great  S5an- 
pathy  sprang  up  in  my  heart.  I  was  so  accustomed  to 
being  left  out,  it  was  so  strange  to  think  of  myself  as 
other  than  alone  in  life,  that  I  could  feel  for  her.  Her 
history  in  the  past  five  years  I  had  no  right  to  know :  the 

111 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

secrets  of  other  lives  did  not  belong  to  me.     But  I  was 
confident  that  Paul  was  blameless,  anyway. 

That  he  had  said  nothing  definite  to  me  of  marriage 
disturbed  me  not  at  all :  the  vestibule  was  not  a  suitable 
place.  Even  as  it  was,  we  had  barely  escaped  the  pres- 
ence of  intruders.  The  main  thing  was  that  he  loved 
me:  everything  else  would  follow  in  good  time.  The 
realization  that  it  would  not  long  be  necessary  to  plan 
life  out  alone,  was  so  new  and  so  delicious  that  I  resented 
the  drowsiness  that  was  gradually  stealing  over  me,  blot- 
ting out  the  vividness  of  this  evening's  joy.  By  and  by 
this  resentment  vanished,  too ;  and,  with  a  strange,  sweet 
sense  that  everj^ing  was  well,  I  sank  into  unconscious- 
ness. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
*'BY  SPECIAL  DELIVERY" 

NEXT  morning  before  I  left  the  house,  from  the 
florist's  on  the  Broadway  comer  of  the  street 
came  a  box  containing  Paul's  card  and  a  big 
bunch  of  violets.  The  latter  I  pinned  on  my  coat  and 
proudly  walked  up  Fifth  Avenue.  Even  Mrs.  Grey, 
busiest  of  women,  remarked  on  my  appearance  when  I 
opened  the  ofhce-door. 

"Are  those  stunning  violets  the  cause  or  the  effect  of 
your  regal  air  this  morning?"  she  smilingly  inquired. 

I  smiled  back  at  her.  "Perhaps  they're  both,"  I 
said. 

"Well,  you  look  as  if  you  were  equal  to  anything  and 
I'm  particularly  glad  of  it.  I  have  some  work  on  hand 
that  I  don't  dare  delegate  to  any  one  but  you. " 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Grey,"  I  answered,  giving  her  a 
hug.     "I'm  ready  to  move  heaven  and  earth." 

"Oh,  it's  not  so  bad  as  that.  It  will  only  take  you 
to  New  England  for  a  couple  of  weeks  at  most. '  *  In- 
stinctively my  hand  went  up  to  the  violets.  ' '  I  want  you 
to  go  to  Boston  this  afternoon,"  continued  Mrs.  Grey, 
"attend  to  some  business  for  me  in  Cambridge  to-mor- 
row, and  then  go  on  to  Bangor,  Maine.  You  will  prob- 
ably be  there  for  ten  days  or  so.  On  your  way  back  I 
have  another  little  job  for  you  in  a  small  town  near 
Albany.  It  will  probably  mean  your  staying  overnight ; 
if  so,  you'd  better  sleep  in  Albany.  There  isn't  a  decent 
hotel  in  the  other  place. ' '  Then  she  explained  the  de- 
tails of  the  mission  on  which  she  was  sending  me. 

113 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Before  leaving  town  that  afternoon,  I  sent  a  hurried 
note  to  Paul,  giving  him  the  news  and  my  itinerary,  as 
mapped  out  by  Mrs.  Grey. 

Letters,  flowers,  books,  and  candy  followed  me  to  each 
address  and — doubtless  by  their  aid — I  succeeded  in  doing 
what  was  expected  of  me.  The  day  I  was  to  leave  Ban- 
gor for  Albany,  I  received  from  Paul,  by  special  delivery, 
a  letter  saying  that  he  and  his  mother  had  been  planning 
for  some  time  to  run  up  to  Albany ;  and,  on  account  of 
my  being  there  so  soon,  they  had  decided  to  make  their 
visit  coincide  with  mine. 

"According  to  your  letter  of  yesterday,"  he  wrote, 
"you  go  from  Bangor  Thursday  afternoon  to  Boston, 
sleep  there  and  continue  the  journey  to  Albany  on  Fri- 
day. In  view  of  the  hour  your  train  arrives  in  Albany — 
and  right  here  let  me  thank  you  for  remembering  to 
mention  it,  as  I  requested,  so  many  would  have  left  me 
wildly  guessing — mother  and  I  will  take  a  train  from  the 
Grand  Central  that  will  land  us  in  Albany  in  plenty  of 
time  for  me  to  get  her  settled  at  the  hotel  before  I  go  to 
the  station  to  meet  you. 

"Of  course,  you  will  be  our  guest;  so  don't  telegraph 
ahead  for  hotel  accommodation  for  yourself.  I'm  boss- 
ing this  job,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  wire  me  *0.  K. ' 
as  soon  as  you  read  this.  By  the  way,  send  the  message 
to  me  at  the  Athletic  Club,  for  we've  had  some  trouble 
about  telegrams  at  the  Meriden,  and  I  don't  dare  run  the 
risk  of  having  a  telegram  from  you  held  up. 

"And  don't  write  mother,  dear.  She  received  two 
letters  with  bad  news  from  different  friends  last  week, 
and  the  very  sight  of  an  envelope  makes  her  nervous 
now.  That's  why  she  hasn't  already  written  you  herself. 
I'm  the  proxy  in  this  case.  It  needed  no  urging  on  my 
part  for  mother  to  agree  to  go  to  Albany.  She  is  fonder 
than  ever  of  you  now;  in  fact,  you're  a  link  between  her 
and  myself,  and  she  is  almost  as  eager  to  see  you  as  I  am 
— which  is  saying  a  great  deal. ' ' 

114 


"BY  SPECIAL  DELIVERY" 

From  this  I  inferred  that  Paul  had  told  his  mother; 
from  her  coming  to  meet  me,  that  she  was  reconciled. 
Accordingly  it  seemed  that  I  had  nothing  left  to  wish  for 
now  and  I  sent  to  Paul  at  the  Athletic  Club  the  message 
he  desired. 

The  work  in  Bangor  was  finished  half  a  day  earlier 
than  the  schedule  anticipated ;  from  long  study  of  time- 
tables, I  found  that  I  could  make  connections  that  would 
enable  me  to  reach  Albany  in  the  early  morning  of  Fri- 
day, instead  of  afternoon.  Thus  ample  opportunity 
would  be  afforded  to  go  to  the  village  indicated  by  Mrs. 
Grey,  accomplish  my  errand  there  if  fortune  favored,  and 
return  to  Albany  within  forty  minutes  of  the  time  when 
I  was  due  according  to  the  other  plan — and  the  forty 
minutes'  margin  was  the  right  side,  too.  This  arrange- 
ment would  have  the  advantage  of  leaving  me  with  a 
clear  slate  when  I  met  Mrs.  Forsythe  and  Paul ;  and  from 
that  time  till  Monday  afternoon,  when  I  was  expected  in 
New  York,  no  thought  of  business  should  intrude  upon 
the  holiday. 

To  decide  upon  this  plan  was  to  act  on  it  at  once. 
Everything  worked  like  a  charm ;  even  the  weather  con- 
tributed its  share  of  sun  and  warmth  and  the  sweet 
breath  of  spring. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
AT  ALBANY 

THUS  it  came  about  that  on  Friday  afternoon  I  sat 
in  a  comer  of  the  railway  waiting-room  at  Al- 
bany when  Paul  Forsythe  walked  in.  I  can  see 
him  now :  not  only  the  women  but  the  men  turned  to 
look  at  him.  As  for  me — unobserved,  I  seized  upon  the 
luxury  of  watching  him,  thrilling  through  and  through 
at  his  signs  of  eagerness  as  he  eyed  the  clock. 

Then  a  shrill  voice  called  out:  "Incoming  Boston  ex- 
press! Track  number  seven,"  and  he  started  for  the 
door  leading  to  the  train-shed.  I  stole  after  him,  and 
just  outside  the  door  caught  up  with  him. 

"Paul,"  I  said  softly,  "Paul." 

Even  in  the  crowd  he  heard  me ;  at  the  look  in  his 
eyes  as  he  turned  to  welcome  me,  a  warm  wave  rushed 
up  from  my  heart  to  throat  and  forehead.  A  few  words 
explained  my  arrival  ahead  of  schedule  time.  "And  my 
work's  all  done,"  I  said. 

He  took  my  traveling  bag  and  led  the  way  outside ; 
there  he  put  me  in  a  cab,  sprang  in  himself  and  shouted 
to  the  driver,  '  *  Hotel , ' '  Then  he  leaned  back,  study- 
ing me  through  half -closed  lids. 

"How  is  your  mother?" 

"Mother?  Oh,  very  well.  Very  well  indeed."  In 
his  emphasis  I  caught  a  trace  of  agitation  which  deep- 
ened my  own  embarrassment  under  his  continued  gaze. 
Throughout  our  short  drive  to  the  hotel,  I  was  conscious 
of  some  strangeness  in  Paul,  and,  in  myself,  of  some  in- 
stinctive shrinking.     As  we  entered  the  hotel,  this  was 

U6 


AT  ALBANY 

intensified.  It  was  unexplainable ;  and  half  angry,  half 
ashamed,  I  took  myself  to  task  with  the  reminder  that  in 
the  Meriden,  whether  Mrs.  Forsythe  accompanied  us  or 
not,  I  was  accustomed  to  pass  in  and  out  with  Paul  as 
unconcernedly  as  I  went  to  business  every  day.  Why 
should  I  be  so  disconcerted  by  mere  change  of  environ- 
ment? There  was  no  other  difference:  Paul's  mother 
was  waiting  upstairs  for  us  now.  But  the  embarrassment 
remained. 

In  the  elevator  I  noticed  that  Paul  was  very  pale.  As 
we  emerged  on  the  fourth  floor,  he  motioned  me  to  the 
right  and  paused  an  instant  to  suit  his  step  to  mine.  Half- 
way down  the  corridor,  a  door  opposite  opened  suddenly 
and  a  woman  darted  out. 

I  halted,  with  a  quick  sigh  of  relief,  supposing  that  it 
was  Mrs.  Forsythe  on  the  lookout  for  her  son  and  me. 
This  was  the  way  she  often  did  at  the  Meriden.  Turn- 
ing with  both  hands  outstretched,  I  found  myself  face  to 
face  with  an  utter  stranger. 

"Oh,  pardon  me,"  I  exclaimed.  "I — I — thought  it 
was  a  friend. ' ' 

At  the  sound  of  my  voice,  Paul,  who  by  this  time  was 
a  little  in  advance,  hastily  retraced  his  steps.  "Did  you 
see  somebody  you  knew?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "Aren't  we — aren't  we  almost 
there?" 

' '  Half  a  minute  more, ' '  said  he,  falling  into  step  with 
me  again ;  and  the  next  I  knew  he  had  unlocked  a  door 
and  was  ushering  me  into  a  sitting-room.  Then  he 
closed  the  door  very  quietly  and,  leaning  back  against 
it,  put  both  arms  around  me  and  drew  me  close,  asking, 
with  a  tremulous  smile  as  he  bent  his  face  to  mine: 
"Will  this  do  as  well  as  the  Mead's  vestibule?" 

But  the  response  was  not  the  same.  I  slipped  away 
from  him  and  walked  over  to  a  writing  desk.  "Why — 
your  mother,  Paul  ?' '  I  stammered,  looking  around  me 
in  bewilderment. 

117 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  Mother  isn't  here — just  now,  '* 
he  explained  a  little  incoherently.  ' '  Said  she  had  some 
shopping  to  do. ' ' 

"Well,  all  the  more  reason  then — "  I  began. 

But  he  cut  me  short  with:  "Dorothy,  haven't  you 
confidence  in  me?" 

"Why — why — of  course.  But  what  a  strange  ques- 
tion." After  a  pause  I  added,  "Someway,  everything 
seems  strange  to-day. " 

"It  won't,  if  you'll  only  trust  yourself  to  me,"  he 
murmured  pleadingly,  coming  close  to  me  again.  In- 
stinctively I  recoiled. 

At  this  recoil  his  manner  changed.  •  With  sudden 
fierceness  he  lifted  me  high  in  his  arms,  then  sank  down 
on  a  chair,  forced  my  head  back  on  his  shoulder,  and 
kissed  me  again  and  again  full  upon  the  mouth. 

I  fought  desperately.  "That's  not  fair.  Let  me 
go, ' '  I  gasped.     ' '  I  hate  you. ' ' 

"Hate  me,  do  you?  Well,  pretty  soon  you  won't," 
he  muttered  and  fell  to  kissing  me  again.  But  someway 
— just  how  I  do  not  know — I  succeeded  in  freeing  myself 
at  once.  With  blazing  eyes  I  faced  him  from  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

He  rose  from  the  chair,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  planted  himself  directly  between  me  and  the  door, 
still  watching  my  flushed  face.  "You  didn't  hate  me 
that  evening  in  the  vestibule. ' ' 

This  reference  brought  vividly  to  mind  the  ideal  I  had 
so  long  cherished,  the  hope  trembling,  but  recently  in 
my  heart,  the  joy  that  for  the  last  two  weeks  had  been 
trying  its  wings. 

"Ah,  that  was  a  different  man,"  I  moaned. 

"No,  the  very  same, "  he  said. 

"Then  I've  never  understood  you." 

"You  haven't,  and  it's  high  time  you  should.  That's 
why  we  are  in  Albany. " 

This  superior  tone  was  the  last  straw.  I  drew  myself 
118 


AT  ALBANY 

up  to  my  full  height.  "Will  you  kindly  explain  just 
what  part  your  mother  is  to  play  ?  Is  she  in  the  secret, 
too?" 

* '  My  mother  is  in  New  York. ' ' 

For  a  long  moment  I  looked  at  him,  slow  understand- 
ing dawning  in  my  eyes.  "So  this — this — is  what  you 
meant?"  I  walked  to  the  threshold  of  the  half -open 
door  that  led  into  the  next  room,  and  glanced  in.  It  was 
a  bedroom. 

Then  slowly  I  turned  back  to  the  man,  who  was 
watching  every  expression  of  my  face.  Through  a  blur 
of  scorn  I  said:  "And  you  have  lied  deliberately." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  ' '  If  you  choose  to  call  it 
that.  I  acknowledge  I  deceived  you.  But  I  did  it  for 
your  good.  And  you'll  willingly  admit  it  before  we 
leave  this  place. ' ' 

At  this  I  caught  up  my  traveling  bag  and  started  for 
the  door  leading  to  the  corridor.  But  he  was  there  be- 
fore me. 

' '  Unless  you  open  that  door  and  let  me  go  at  once, ' ' 
I  said  in  a  voice  that  was  my  own  and  yet  seemed  very 
far  away,  '  *  I  shall  telephone  downstairs  for  help. ' ' 

"I  don't  think  you  will,"  he  answered,  very  quietly, 
"for  you're  too  sensible  a  girl  not  to  foresee  the  scandal 
that  would  cause.  It  wouldn't  matter  so  much  for  me, 
but  you  can't  afford  a  scandal.  We  are  on  the  hotel  reg- 
ister as  man  and  wife. ' ' 

In  the  intensity  of  stillness,  the  words  seemed  to  be 
alive.  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  ' '  I  wonder  if  you 
know  how  I  despise  you,  Paul  Forsythe?" 

"That's  not  my  name  in  Albany,"  he  protested, 
smilingly.  "I  am  Peter  Flint.  And  don't  forget  your 
own.  You  are  Mrs.  Peter  Flint  for  the  present,  Dor- 
othy." 

I  folded  my  arms  and  stood  looking  at  him.  "I  am 
here  alone  with  you, "  I  said.  "What  more  have  you  to 
say?" 

119 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"A  great  deal,"  he  returned,  calmly;  and  then,  mo- 
tioning to  a  chair : "  Sit  down.  First  of  all  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  you  have  no  reason  to  be  afraid  of  me.  I  shall 
not  even  try  to  kiss  you  against  your  will  again.  It  was 
only  because  I  had  lived  for  two  weeks  on  the  memory  of 
your  sweet  surrender  when  I  saw  you  last  that  your 
unresponsiveness  just  now  made  me  forget  myself.  But 
that  is  over  and  I  apologize.  Next  time  you'll  come  to 
my  arms  willingly. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause,  but  I  gave  no  sign  of  hearing 
him. 

' '  I  mentioned  a  little  while  ago, ' '  he  resumed  in  the 
same  even  voice,  "that  you  didn't  understand  me.  And 
you  don't  understand  yourself,  either,  Dorothy.  I  want 
to  help  you  to  do  both.  I've  had  this  in  mind  ever  since 
we  met  last  summer  at  the  seashore.  Now,  I'm  going 
to  be  very  frank  with  you :  I  have  no  intention  of  marry- 
ing you  or  anybody  else.  Mother  has  nobody  on  earth 
but  me — and,  anyway,  I  prize  my  liberty.  But  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  Liberty  does  not  preclude  friend- 
ship— friendship  of  rare  flavor  and  quality. ' '  There  was 
another  pause.     "Are  you  listening?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.     But  my  tone  told  him  nothing. 

"As  a  rule,  I  have  a  horror  of  women  under  twenty- 
five.  They're  crude  and  raw  and  the  edges  stick  out. 
You're  twenty-two,  but,  despite  the  crudity,  the  fine  ma- 
terial is  evident.  There's  a  very  appealing  freshness 
about  you  and  a  zest  for  life  that's  worth  cultivating. 
But  it  requires  cultivating ;  all  this  vivacity,  this  verve, 
this  overeagemess,  must  be  toned  down.  You  lack 
poise,  you  need  experience.  Ten  years  from  now — if 
you  have  the  right  training  in  the  meantime — you'll  be 
a  woman  to  be  proud  of. ' ' 

He  said  more  in  the  same  strain,  watching  me  nar- 
rowly meanwhile — as  I  understood,  although  I  never 
raised  my  eyes — for  some  indication  that  his  peculiar 
form  of  flattery  was  having  its  effect.     And  it  was :  it 

120    ■ 


AT  ALBANY 

was  turning  me  to  adamant.  But  he  didn't  perceive  it 
All  his  subtlety  was  gone. 

Had  he  spoken  one  word  of  genuine  affection,  tempta- 
tion might  have  assailed  me ;  I  might  have  forgiven  the 
deceit  by  which  he  had  decoyed  me  here  had  anything 
else  rung  true.  But  this  is  not  a  story  of  what  might 
have  been.  The  abyss  of  insincerity  so  startlingly  dis- 
closed, the  cold-bloodedness,  the  consummate  egotism  of 
the  man  freed  me  from  the  thraldom  of  the  flesh,  while 
at  the  same  time  it  revealed  the  gravity  of  the  danger 
which  confronted  me. 

In  his  promise  not  to  attempt  again  to  kiss  me  against 
my  will,  I  trusted  no  more  than  I  believed  his  vain- 
glorious assertion  concerning  my  willingness  "next 
time."  In  other  words,  I  was  not — under  the  circum- 
stances— afraid  of  myself,  but  I  was  afraid  of  him ;  and  I 
appreciated,  too,  in  every  tingling  nerve,  that  I  must  not 
betray  the  fear,  the  loathing  he  inspired.  I  had  angered 
him  once  to-day :  it  would  be  folly  to  rouse  his  wrath 
again.     Yet  what  was  I  to  do  ?    How  could  I  get  away  ? 

In  the  fixity  of  musing  that  ensued,  I  did  not  at  once 
perceive  that  Paul  had  left  off  speaking.  But  at  length, 
the  quiet  of  the  room  penetrated  to  my  consciousness. 

Presently  he  spoke  again.  "You'd  better  take  off 
your  hat. ' ' 

"All  right,"  I  replied. 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  he  cried,  exultantly.  "I 
always  knew  you  were  a  thoroughbred. ' ' 

To  gain  time  I  walked  over  to  the  mirror.  He  fol- 
lowed ;  and  as  I  raised  my  hands  to  remove  the  hatpins, 
his  fingers  closed  on  mine.     ' '  Let  me, ' '  he  said. 

There  were  several  hatpins  and  he  was  a  long  time 
finding  them.  I  longed  to  sink  through  the  floor,  but  re- 
minded myself  that  this  was  no  time  to  dwell  on  the  im- 
possible ;  I  needed  all  my  wits  to  seize  on  any  opportunity 
that  might  be  offered  for  escape. 

While  he  was  still  hunting  for  the  last  hatpin,  whose 
9  121 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

head  was  embedded  in  some  tulle  beneath  the  hatbrim  at 
the  back,  a  sharp  knock  sounded  from  the  direction  of 
the  room  beyond.  This  disturbance  increased  his  clum- 
siness and  his  determination,  too.  "I'll  find  that  hat- 
pin, ' '  he  announced  through  clenched  teeth,  * '  or  die  in 
the  attempt." 

But  the  knocking  still  continued,  louder  than  be- 
fore. It  was  plain  that  the  intruder  was  of  no  mind  to 
accept  defeat.  With  a  muttered  imprecation,  Forsythe 
finally  rushed  into  the  room  beyond,  flinging  wide  open 
the  connecting  door.  Through  the  mirror  I  could  see 
clear  across  the  other  room  and,  as  Paul  opened  the  out- 
side door  to  admit  the  messenger,  I  caught  sight  of  a 
passage  way.  This  I  understood  at  once  from  the  posi- 
tion of  the  rooms  was  at  right  angles  to  the  main  cor- 
ridor. 

Sooner  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  I  darted  to  the  hall  door 
of  the  sitting-room.  Beyond  it  lay  the  main  corridor, 
avenue  of  escape !  Feeling  already  the  mad  throb  of  lib- 
eration, I  warned  myself  to  wait  till  Paul  began  to  parley 
with  the  messenger.    Then,  cautiously,  I  turned  the  knob. 

The  door  was  locked!  Furthermore,  the  key  was 
gone ;  doubtless  Paul  had  removed  it  soon  after  our  en- 
trance, when  I  was  preoccupied  with  wondering  where 
his  mother  was.  At  any  rate,  the  key  was -gone.  And 
the  door  was  locked. 

Immediately  Paul  called  out  from  the  other  room: 
"Come  here  a  minute,  Dorothy.  The  florist's  boy  has 
brought  something  you  will  like. ' '  I  obeyed  and  found 
a  huge  box  of  long-stemmed  American  Beauty  roses  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Peter  Flint.  '  *  I  ordered  these  for  you 
this  noon  and  then  forgot  all  about  them, ' '  he  confessed. 

Something  told  me  to  feign  delight.  "Oh,  thank 
you,  thank  you, ' '  I  cried  and  then  with  eager  question 
and  comment  turned  to  the  boy  whom — I  couldn't  have 
told  why — it  was  my  one  thought  to  detain. 

Just  then  there  was  a  ring  at  the  telephone ;  the  tele- 
122 


AT  ALBANY 

phone  was  in  the  sitting-room.  "Suppose  you  answer 
that,"  suggested  Paul,  "while  I  pay  the  boy." 

But  I  buried  my  face  in  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers. 
"I  can't  leave  these,"  I  murmured,  faint  with  the  vision 
of  escape  which  was  now  revealed  to  me. 

"Well,  never  mind,"  he  rejoined  good-naturedly,  as 
one  who,  confident  of  success  in  the  main  issue,  can 
afford  to  be  magnanimous.     "The  boy  will  wait. " 

After  that,  it  seemed  a  thousand  years  till  Paul 
stepped  into  the  sitting-room  and  I  heard  him  at  the  tele- 
phone. Then,  with  hands  that  trembled,  I  flung  the  roses 
to  the  boy.  "Here,  hold  them,"  I  managed  to  find  voice 
enough  to  say.     The  next  instant  I  was  gone. 

Down  the  passage  way  I  sped,  clinging  with  one  hand 
to  my  hat,  which  was  insecurely  fastened  with  the  single 
hatpin  which  had  baffled  the  man's  search.  Whether  I 
really — or  only  in  imagination — heard  a  door  opening 
and  an  angry  voice  calling  after  me,  I  do  not  know.  But 
I  ran  as  if  hell-hounds  were  in  pursuit. 

Under  a  vague  impression  that  the  elevator  was  a 
long  way  off  and  that  I  mustn't  meet  the  elevator  boy,  I 
veered  sharply  to  the  left  at  the  first  turning;  but,  catch- 
ing sight  of  people  coming  down  that  corridor,  I  fled  in 
the  opposite  direction,  not  knowing  where  I  went. 

Soon  I  came  upon  a  stairway  and  breathlessly  ran  all 
the  way  to  the  ground  floor ;  there,  fortunately,  I  found 
myself  in  a  quarter  of  the  house  far  removed  from  the 
office  and  the  entrance  through  which  I  had  passed  with 
Paul.     A  door  stood  open.     I  dashed  into  the  street. 

Hailing  a  cab  that  happened  to  be  passing,  I  told  the 
driver  to  take  me  posthaste  to  the  railway  station ;  but  I 
spoke  so  rapidly  that  he  couldn't  understand,  and  there 
was  some  delay  till  he  found  out  what  I  meant.  To  me 
this  delay  seemed  interminable,  but  it  was  probably  only 
a  short  space  of  time  until,  at  breakneck  pace,  we  were 
rattling  through  the  streets.  Huddled  in  the  hansom,  I 
suddenly  remembered  that  my  purse  was  in  my  traveling 

123 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

bag  in  the  hotel ;  however,  in  a  chamois  bag  pinned  in- 
side my  shirt-waist  was  money  enough  to  pay  the  cab 
fare  and  to  buy  a  ticket  to  New  York. 

Arrived  at  the  railway  station,  I  learned  that  a  train 
was  leaving  almost  instantly.  With  a  glance  at  the 
ticket  window,  where  I  had  no  time  to  take  my  place  in 
line,  I  rushed  through  to  the  platform,  past  the  blinking 
gateman  and  scrambled  up  the  steps  of  the  rear  car  just 
as  the  train  pulled  out. 

After  traversing  three  coaches,  I  found  a  seat  and 
sank  into  it  in  a  state  bordering  on  collapse.  At  first  I 
could  not  think  of  anything;  then  all  at  once  it  seemed 
to  me  that  in  my  face  he  who  ran  could  read  the  story  of 
the  day  and  find  corroboration  in  my  lack  of  ticket,  lug- 
gage, gloves. 

But  furtive  inspection  assured  me  that  my  fellow  pas- 
sengers were  absorbed  in  their  own  affairs  and  indifferent 
to  mine.  I  breathed  more  easily,  and  by  and  by  regained 
a  sense  of  values.  What  mattered  it  that  I  had  no 
ticket?  I  had  money  enough  to  pay  my  fare.  And  as 
for  luggage — as  for  gloves? — Luggage?  Gloves?  Tears 
of  relief  and  gratitude  welled  up  in  my  eyes.  What  mat- 
tered anything  on  earth  but  the  one  fact  of  escape? 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
INCREASING  WEIGHT  OF  ISOLATION 

WHEN  I  reached  the  boarding  house  in  West  Twen- 
ty   Street,  New  York,  on  the  return  from 

Albany  without  gloves  or  luggage  (which  fol- 
lowed by  express  next  day),  I  found  awaiting  me  a  week- 
old  letter  from  Mrs.  Forsythe. 

"I  don't  know  where  you  are,"  she  wrote,  "nor 
when  you're  coming  back,  though  Paul  did  tell  me  that 
you  had  gone  away  on  business. ' ' 

Between  the  lines,  I  read  evidence  of  her  displeasure 
that  I  had  not  "seen  fit,"  as  she  would  have  phrased  it, 
to  acquaint  her  with  the  news  myself.  She  hoped,  how- 
ever, that  I  should  return  to  town  in  time  to  see  her  be- 
fore she  went  away  for  the  summer.  The  date  of  her 
departure  was  not  yet  set,  she  said,  nor  was  the  place  of 
her  sojourn  decided  on;  but,  in  the  intervals  between 
appointments  with  the  dressmaker,  she  was  weighing  the 
pros  and  cons  of  several  different  localities  from  which 
Paul  wished  her  to  select  and,  if  the  hot  weather  should 
come  on  suddenly,  she  might  come  to  a  decision  over- 
night. "In  that  case,"  she  warned  me,  "we  probably 
shouldn't  meet  again  till  fall." 

From  all  this  I  gleaned  that,  owing  to  my  silence — 
at  Paul's  initiative — I  was  in  disfavor  now;  but  that  there 
still  remained  a  chance  to  return  and  be  forgiven  pro- 
vided I  was  prompt. 

Under  the  circumstances,  nothing  could  have  been 
more  opportune.  To  meet  Mrs.  Forsythe  at  all — which 
meant  running  the  risk  of  meeting  her  son,  too — was  out 

125 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

of  the  question.  Through  no  fault  of  my  own,  I  was 
now  in  her  black  books :  by  my  own  choice  there  I  would 
remain.  Of  course,  I  did  not  blame  the  mother  for  the 
baseness  of  the  son,  but  it  was  impossible  to  keep  up 
the  acquaintance  with  her  now;  neither  could  I  bear  the 
thought  of  staying  on  in  the  old  surroundings.  Accord- 
ingly, I  left  Mrs.  Forsythe's  letter  unanswered  and  spent 
all  my  spare  time  looking  for  another  boarding  place. 

A  week  later  a  second  letter  came.  This  bore  the 
postmark  of  a  summer  resort  on  the  Sound,  to  which,  it 
appeared,  the  Forsythes  had  fled  on  the  arrival  of  the 
first ' '  hot  spell. ' '  With  some  misgiving,  I  tore  open  the 
envelope,  but  was  overjoyed  to  learn  that,  because  of 
what  Mrs.  Forsythe  dubbed  "a  sudden  whim  of  Paul's," 
mother  and  son  were  soon  to  sail  for  Europe  for  an  in- 
definite stay  abroad. 

"The  globe-trotting  begins  once  more,"  was  the  way 
Mrs.  Forsythe  announced  the  change  of  plan,  "and  I'm 
dashing  off  these  few  lines  to  say  that  I  must  see  you 
before  we  sail,  even  if  you  have  been  naughty  in  neglect- 
ing me  of  late.  So  write  at  once  and  let  me  know  your 
free  time  between  now  and  the  thirtieth. ' ' 

By  return  mail  I  answered  this,  saying  that  work  was 
very  heavy  now  and  that  I  couldn't  in  the  least  count 
upon  my  time  in  the  brief  interval  before  she  sailed, 
especially  as  it  was  more  than  probable  that  Mrs.  Grey 
would  wish  to  send  me  out  of  town  again.  I  thanked 
Mrs.  Forsythe  for  all  her  kindness,  wished  her  a  good 
crossing,  and  brought  the  letter  to  a  close  as  quickly  and 
yet  as  cordially  as  I  could. 

She  sent  me  a  postcard  from  the  steamer,  so  I  judged 
she  was  content ;  at  any  rate  I  was  content,  as  I  wrote 
"Finis"  to  a  chapter,  of  which  I  decided  with  the 
prompt  certainty  of  youth  there  could  be  no  possible  re- 
opening in  the  years  to  come. 

Settled  in  another  boarding  house  half  a  mile  farther 
uptown,  with  the  Forsythes  safely  out  of  the  country,  I 

126 


INCREASING  WEIGHT  OF  ISOLATION 

told  myself  that  life  would  be  just  the  same  as  it  had  been 
before  the  begimiing  of  |the  acquaintance  that  was  now 
abruptly  closed.  But  it  was  not  the  same !  The  influ- 
ences of  the  past  year  were  too  far-reaching  to  be  blotted 
out  by  willing  to  forget  them  and  by  moving  half  a  mile. 

At  first,  gratitude  for  my  escape  from  Paul  Forsythe 
dominated  every  other  feeling.  But  later  I  began  to  ask 
myself  why,  why  such  an  experience  as  the  recent  epi- 
sode in  Albany  should  have  come  to  me — to  me  who  had 
harmed  nobody,  who  wanted  only  to  be  good  and  strong 
and  brave.  Many  hours  I  wasted  in  resentment,  many 
tears  I  shed,  before  I  realized  that  if  I  could  rightly  an- 
swer that  one  question  "Why?"  I  should  have  the  key 
to  all  the  mysteries. 

But  perhaps — perhaps — I  reasoned,  it  was  a  test  of 
how  much  this  glibly  formulated  wish  of  mine  "to  be 
good  and  strong  and  brave"  really  amounted  to;  gradu- 
ally I  came  to  see  that  no  one  else  has  power  to  make  or 
mar  the  inner  life  of  any  individual :  in  the  realm  of  the 
spirit,  growth  depends  upon  oneself.  With  this  clearer 
vision,  came  resolve  not  to  lose  sight  of  it,  and  the  next 
two  years — take  them  all  in  all — marked,  I  think,  some 
gain  for  me  in  the  things  that  are  worth  while. 

Outwardly  there  was  little  change:  one  boarding- 
house  hall  bedroom  differs  not  much  from  another ;  and 
the  business  routine  was  the  same,  except  that,  with 
greater  responsibility,  I  now  had  a  smaller  salary  than 
at  first. 

Mrs.  Grey  was  reported  to  be  a  woman  of  large  for- 
tune. But  the  report  was  false.  Her  husband  at  his 
death  had  left  her  well-provided  for,  but,  since  that  time, 
the  shrinking  of  investments  in  which  much  of  her 
money  was  tied  up  necessitated  retrenchment  even  in  the 
philanthropic  work  which  enlisted  her  deepest  interest. 
At  the  start  she  had  carried  the  entire  financial  burden 
of  the  enterprise  and,  as  the  volume  of  the  work  in- 
creased,   there  was  not  corresoonding   increase  in  the 

127 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

number  of  those  whose  co-operation  took  the  form  of 
material  support.  Agitation  for  woman  suffrage  was 
not  as  popular  then  as  now,  and  the  expenses  which  our 
work  entailed  came  to  be  a  heavy  drain  on  Mrs.  Grey's 
resources. 

Understanding  this,  I  heartily  concurred  in  the  salary 
reduction  which  ensued,  even  though  it  meant  renewal 
of  the  harried  stress  of  wherewithal  that  had  marked  my 
college  days.  I  did  manage  to  keep  decently  clothed  and 
housed  and  fed,  but  the  slightest  of  margins  remained 
for  the  necessary  extras  which  inevitably  crop  up;  and 
there  was  no  chance  of  saving  for  that  "rainy  day"  on 
which  in  all  forecasts  my  New  England  upbringing  had 
laid  great  emphasis. 

And  yet  money  or  the  lack  of  it  has  never  been  the 
chief  consideration ;  for  me,  poverty  or  wealth  is  meas- 
ured by  affection,  by  sympathy,  I  was  bound  to  Mrs. 
Grey  by  ties  of  love  and  loyalty,  and  to  desert  her  at  this 
crisis,  even  had  work  that  was  much  better  paid  been 
offered  me,  would  have  been  impossible.  She  had 
trained  me,  had  made  me  valuable  to  her,  and  I  could 
not  imagine  working  with  anybody  else.  I  still  "didn't 
want  to  vote, ' '  but,  as  the  prospect  of  votes  for  women 
was  no  nearer  than  on  the  day  I  first  declared  my  atti- 
tude, and  as  I  was  more  occupied  with  the  office  routine 
of  philanthropy  than  with  what  Mrs.  Grey  denominated 
"the  educational  feature,"  personal  indifference  to  the 
franchise  was  no  bar  to  efficiency. 

And  so  I  continued  in  the  employ  of  Mrs.  Grey. 
There  was  never  the  least  shadow  of  discord  between 
us;  neither  was  there,  save  on  very  rare  occasions,  any 
expression  on  her  part  of  appreciation.  Through  over- 
eagerness  for  such  expression,  I  attached  too  much  im- 
portance to  the  lack  of  it:  as  matter  of  fact,  it  was  not 
significant.  Mrs.  Grey  was  simply  too  engrossed  in 
business  cares  to  think  of  the  personal  side  of  our  rela- 
tion.    I   was  a  machine  and,  so  long  as  the  machine 

128 


INCREASING  WEIGHT  OF  ISOLATION 

worked  satisfactorily,  nothing  need  be  said.  Yet  in 
emergencies  she  could  always  be  depended  on  to  express 
what  at  other  times  she  was  too  busy  to  think  of. 

After  the  salary  reduction,  I  know  she  never  realized 
— and  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  tell  her — how  I  had 
to  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet.  With  no  experience 
of  grinding  poverty  herself,  she  didn't  understand  that  I 
moved  to  a  boarding  house  on  the  East  Side  because  it 
was  much  less  expensive  than  the  Thirty Street  board- 
ing house ;  that  I  often  walked  miles  beyond  my  strength 
in  order  to  save  car  fare  for  some  more  pressing  need; 
that  I  omitted  luncheon  because  I  could  not  afford  it — in 
short,  that  deprivation  and  denial  marked  all  the  daily 
round.  Had  she  known,  she  would  have  managed  some- 
way to  make  things  easier,  but  my  lips  were  tied.  I  felt 
that  Mrs.  Grey,  of  her  own  accord,  would  increase  my 
salary  as  soon  as  she  was  able ;  until  then  I  must  con- 
tinue to  practice  the  closest  economy.  It  was  hard,  but 
such  was  my  nature  that  the  struggle  with  poverty 
counted  little  in  comparison  with  the  weight  of  isolation 
that  grew  heavier  each  year. 

Despite  my  loneliness,  I  could  not  make  friends  with 
the  people  in  the  boarding  house.  Of  course,  there  was 
the  surface  intercourse,  the  commonplace  of  courtesy, 
but  for  genuine  friendship  I  found  no  material ;  at  times 
friendly  overtures  were  made,  but  something  always  held 
me  back.  It  may  be  that  my  standards  were  too  high, 
or  that  my  experience  with  Paul  Forsythe  had  made  me 
suspicious  of  people  in  general ;  but  yet,  looking  back  on 
those  unhappy  years,  I  cannot  see  that  I  was  more  cau- 
tious than  a  young  woman  alone  ought  to  be,  and  my 
failure  to  form  any  real  friendship  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  my  misfortune,  not  my  fault. 

No  one  who  has  not  been  similarly  placed  can  under- 
stand the  limitations  of  a  young  woman's  life  alone  in  a 
great  city,  particularly  when  the  nature  of  her  employ- 
ment opens  up  no  social  opportunities.     In  this  I  do  not 

129 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

by  any  means  intend  to  intimate  that  women  under  such 
circumstances  have  a  monopoly  of  isolation:  I  realize 
that  existence  on  these  terms  is  hard  for  young  men,  too ; 
that  any  stranger  in  a  metropolis  has  and  must  have 
many  lonely  hours.  But  I  am  telling  my  own  story 
here,  and  need  not  apologize  for  emphasizing  limitations 
from  the  feminine  point  of  view. 

In  my  daily  work  I  was  interested  and  discharged 
every  obligation  to  the  best  of  my  ability ;  but  when  my 
work  was  done  there  was  no  relaxation,  no  diversion,  no 
companionship.  I  tried  to  read,  but  one  can't  read  all 
the  time;  I  tried  to  raise  the  real  me  above  the  dead 
level  of  routine,  the  galling  proximities  of  the  boarding 
house,  the  pettiness  of  the  struggle  with  poverty.  But 
when  one  longs  with  all  the  warm  instincts  of  youth  for 
somebody,  something,  some  place  of  her  own,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  keep  the  mind  at  all  times  fixed  on  such  cold  ab- 
stractions as  development  of  character  and  one's  duty 
to  one's  uncongenial  neighbors  in  the  boarding  house. 
But  I  did  try. 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  on  the  efforts  of  those  years, 
on  the  atmosphere  of  gloom  that  enshrouded  me ;  suffice 
it  to  say  that  there  was  nothing  to  feed  the  devouring 
hunger  in  my  heart.  Of  my  sister  I  heard  only  through 
the  columns  of  the  Manchester  newspaper  to  which  I  still 
subscribed  for  the  sake  of  its  occasional  mention  of  her. 
In  due  time — four  years  after  my  coming  to  New  York — 
she  had  graduated  from  the  university,  where  she  after- 
ward pursued  a  post-graduate  course ;  by  this  time  she 
had  taken  the  master's  degree  and  was  working  for  the 
doctorate. 

The  affection,  the  thought,  that  I  lavished  on  Alison 
would  have  been  impossible,  I  think,  in  the  case  of  any 
older  sister  whose  own  emotional  life  was  normal.  But 
I  had  been  so  starved  and,  in  the  case  of  Paul  Forsythe, 
so  duped,  that  my  heart  turned  to  Alison  with  more  than 
a  sister's  love.     There  was  in  my  feeling  for  her  some- 

130 


INCREASING  WEIGHT  OF  ISOLATION 

thing  of  maternal  brooding,  a  yearning  to  save  her  from 
such  experience  as  mine.  But  I  was  powerless:  I  pon- 
dered on  the  situation  day  and  night;  prayed  over  it, 
agonized  over  it,  only  to  decide  that  I  had  no  right  to  make 
myself  known  to  her.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Coles  had  brought 
her  up  in  ignorance  of  her  birth ;  they  had  given  her 
every  advantage;  she  believed  she  was  their  child.  I 
had  no  right  to  enlighten  her.  The  truth  would  be  a 
shock,  and  doubtless  a  great  grief  to  her  as  well.  All  I 
could  do  for  Alison  was  to  spare  her  that  suffering  and 
to  love  her  from  afar. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
MRS.  MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

THE  winter  I  was  twenty-four  there  was  some  im- 
provement in  my  circumstances,  owing  to  an  in- 
crease in  salary  with  which  Mrs.  Grey  surprised 
me  at  New  Year's.  It  would  still  be  necessary  for  me  to 
exercise  great  care  in  money  matters,  but  I  had  felt  so 
acutely  the  ugliness  and  discomfort  of  the  cheap  East 
Side  boarding  house,  that  I  seized  on  the  opportunity 
now  offered  to  escape,  and  resolved  to  make  up  for  the 
added  cost  of  living  in  a  better  neighborhood  by  econo- 
mizing  in   other   directions.     Accordingly,  I  moved  to 

Mrs.  Miggs's  boarding  house  in  West  Fifty Street, 

between  Fifth  and  Sixth  Avenues.  It  was  an  extremely 
well-kept  house,  and  the  occupants  enjoyed  a  measure  of 
comfort  which  was  luxury  in  comparison  with  the  atmos- 
phere from  which  I  had  just  fled. 

It  was  characteristic  of  me  that,  under  such  circum- 
stances, all  my  buoyancy  returned.  With  one  of  those 
swift  transitions  that  are  temperamental,  I  entered  on 
existence  in  Mrs.  Miggs's  boarding  house  as  if  I  were  be- 
ginning life  all  over  again,  bubbling  over  with  health 
and  good  spirits,  and  ready  to  meet  half-way  any  friendly 
overtures. 

My  new  acquaintances  were  better  educated  and  more 
prosperous  than  the  people  I  had  seen  of  late,  though  I 
found  in  them  no  more  of  sincerity  and  genuine  kindli- 
ness. However,  they  were  pleasanter  to  meet.  Except 
for  a  middle-aged  school  teacher  who  occupied  the  hall 
room  opposite  mine  on  the  top  floor,  the  boarders  were 

132 


MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

all  young  married  people  who  for  several  years  had  lived 
under  the  same  roof.  As  the  house  was  small  and  two 
families  had  a  whole  floor  each,  the  company  was  not 
numerous;  judging  from  the  spirit  of  good-fellowship 
which  pervaded  the  assemblage  at  dinner-time,  when  I 
saw  them  first,  everybody  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
everybody  else. 

People  always  mean  more  to  me  than  books,  and  in 
this  environment  there  was  interesting  material.  One  of 
the  men,  Dr.  Post,  was  a  young  physician  who  since 
then  has  risen  to  fame;  another,  Mr.  Earle,  was  a  jour- 
nalist, resourceful  and  alert;  a  third,  Mr.  Davison,  was 
an  advertising  man  who  even  at  that  time  was  coming 
into  prominence  and  has  now  reached  the  point,  I'm 
told,  where  he  can  convince  any  given  individual  of  any- 
thing on  earth. 

Then,  too,  there  were  the  wives,  though  candor  com- 
pels me  to  confess  that  I  found  them  much  less  interest- 
ing. This  is  not  that  I  am  especially  disinclined  to 
feminine  society,  but  as  I  look  back  upon  the  people  in 
that  boarding  house,  the  men  seem  to  me  to  have  been 
unusually  vital  and  intelligent,  and  the  women  unusually 
trivial  and  uncharitable. 

At  any  rate,  it  was  the  men  who  did  most  of  the  talk- 
ing in  the  dining-room ;  to  be  sure,  in  an  occasional  lull, 
the  school  teacher,  into  whose  soul  the  red  ink  had  long 
since  entered,  made  some  grim  comment  on  the  deadli- 
ness  of  correcting  copy-books;  or  the  married  women 
compared  fashion  notes  or  criticised  other  women  of 
their  acquaintance.  As  this  did  not  appeal  to  me,  I  paid 
no  attention  to  their  remarks,  but  listened  with  all  my 
ears  to  the  worth-while  conversation  of  the  men.  They 
spoke  with  authority  on  a  wide  range  of  topics,  and  after 
my  experience  of  an  exclusively  feminine  viewpoint  in 
association  with  Mrs.  Grey,  it  was  refreshing  to  hear 
matters  of  historical  significance  or  contemporary  inter- 
est discussed  by  well-informed  men.     One  would  defend 

133 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

one  side  of  a  question,  another  the  opposite ;  and  to  both 
I  listened  with  the  same  attentiveness. 

By  and  by  I  did  more  than  listen :  first  I  timidly  put 
forth  a  question  on  some  point  that  was  not  quite  clear, 
then  ventured  a  comment  of  my  own;  and  it  wasn't  very 
long  before  I  was  regularly  included  in  the  talk.  For 
years  I  had  been  a  great  reader,  not  from  any  natural 
tendency  toward  books,  but  as  refuge  from  almost  intol- 
erable loneliness;  in  this  atmosphere  of  masculine  friend- 
liness, what  I  had  stored  away  came  to  the  surface 
now,  and  I  contributed  my  mite  to  the  interchange  of 
thought. 

But  it  wasn't  all  so  serious  as  this  might  indicate. 
One  evening  at  dinner,  I  greeted  with  a  chuckle  a  joke 
which  the  other  women  were  too  absorbed  in  a  consulta- 
tion on  new  gowns  to  see;  evidently  this  unexpected 
appreciation  on  my  part  encouraged  the  perpetrator  to  try 
again,  and  when  he  found  that  I  also  enjoyed  a  joke  if  it 
chanced  to  turn  against  myself,  it  spurred  him  on  the 
•  more.  At  the  end  of  a  certain  sparring  match,  in  which 
I  was  worsted,  he  turned  to  his  wife,  who  sat  glumly 
looking  on. 

"I've  made  a  great  find,"  said  he.  "There's  a  girl," 
nodding  in  my  direction,  "who  can  take  a  joke." 

Then  it  came  to  be  the  usual  thing,  not  only  for  him 
but  for  the  rest  of  them,  to  laugh  and  joke  with  me  at 
dinner.  But  soon  I  was  conscious  of  a  form  of  feminine 
hostility  which  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  understand. 

I  think,  and  have  always  thought,  that  any  woman 
who  attempts  to  engage  the  sentimental  interest  of 
another  woman's  husband,  or  who  encourages  any  such 
interest  that  may  have  sprung  up  without  effort  on  her 
part,  deserves  only  contempt.  But  it  is  ridiculous  to 
think  of  anything  like  that  in  connection  with  this  case. 
Of  course,  I  understand  that  such  friendly  footing  as 
that  on  which  I  stood  with  those  three  men,  might  have 
been  used  as  an  entering  wedge  to  closer  intimacy.     But 

134 


MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

it  was  not  so  used,  and  even  the  suggestion  is  an  insult 
to  every  one  concerned. 

So  far  as  I  knew,  the  men  were  all  married  happily; 
but,  beyond  hoping  on  general  principles  that  such  was 
the  case,  I  never  gave  a  thought  to  that  side  of  their 
lives.  I  saw  them  only  in  the  dining-room  and  showed 
no  partiality  for  any  one  of  them,  but  I  did  make  plain 
my  appreciation  of  the  intellectual  keenness,  the  wisdom, 
and  the  wit  of  all  of  them.  Such  appreciation  seems  to 
me  to  have  been  a  compliment  to  the  wives  themselves, 
especially  when  there  was  not  the  least  reason  to  suspect 
a  wish  on  my  part  to  appropriate  what  belonged  to  them. 
I  was  grateful  to  those  men  collectively  for  the  increase 
of  cheerfulness  they  brought  into  my  life — but  that  was 
all.  They  were  as  honest  as  myself,  and  everything 
was  frank  and  aboveboard  from  the  first  day  of  our 
acquaintance  to  the  last. 

As  soon  as  I  realized  which  way  the  wind  was  blow- 
ing with  the  wives,  I  made  repeated  efforts  to  include 
them  in  the  conversation,  but  without  success;  they 
wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  inform  themselves  on  subjects 
which  held  their  husbands'  interest,  and  they  persistently 
held  aloof  from  the  dinner-table  talk  while  grudging  me 
my  share  in  it. 

Had  they  wished,  they  could  have  beaten  me  at  every 
point,  for  they  had  more  to  do  with  and  more  time  and 
money  with  which  to  make  use  of  their  material.  Each 
of  the  three  was  better  looking  and  better  dressed  than 
I ;  each  had  had  a  happy  home  in  girlhood,  and  each  now 
enjoyed  the  ease  and  comfort  of  a  sheltered  life. 

That  type  of  woman  is  much  less  often  found  in 
boarding  houses  in  New  York  to-day  than  she  was  ten 
years  ago;  apartment  hotels  have  sprung  up  in  great 
profusion  since  that  time,  and  the  husband's  steadily  in- 
creasing means  now  enable  her  to  surround  herself  with 
greater  luxury,  to  gratify  much  more  expensive  tastes. 
But  at  heart  she  is  the  same.     She  shirks  the  pains  and 

135 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

responsibilities  of  child-bearing,  she  absolutely  refuses 
to  be  tied  down  by  the  cares  of  keeping  house.  She 
lives  only  to  indulge  herself.  Thus  my  acquaintances  in 
that  boarding  house,  having  no  real  troubles  to  endure, 
must  needs  invent  some,  and  conjure  up  a  vision  of 
neglect  that  was  utterly  devoid  of  truth. 

One  evening  I  was  so  absorbed  in  a  discussion  of 
profit-sharing  experiments  that  I  did  not  notice  when  the 
other  women  left  the  room.  Later  on — how  much  later 
I  could  not  then  have  told — two  of  them  stuck  their 
heads  inside  the  dining-room  door ;  and  one  of  them — the 
youngest  and  prettiest  in  the  house — called  out : 

"The  card  tables  are  ready  whenever  you  boys  can 
tear  yourselves  away  from  Miss  Baldwin's  society." 
The  words  in  themselves  were  harmless  enough ;  it  was 
the  tone,  and  the  smile  with  which  they  were  accom- 
panied, that  gave  them  significance. 

Her  husband  stopped  short  in  his  argument  and 
turned  to  her  with  a  frown.  "There's  loads  of  time," 
he  said.     "Don't  be  in  such  a  rush." 

The  other  woman's  husband  waved  his  hand  and 
laughed.  "Run  along,  Little  Bright  Eyes.  We'll  be 
there  by  and  by. ' ' 

But  I  had  already  risen  and,  when  I  had  a  chance  to 
speak,  stammered,  in  embarrassment,  '  *  Good  night — good 
night."  Supposing  that  at  least  it  was  nine  o'clock,  I 
murmured  apologetically,  ' '  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late. ' ' 

"But  is  isn't  late,"  one  of  the  men  protested,  holding 
up  his  watch.  "Seventeen  minutes  of  eight — and  we're 
going  to  finish  our  argument.  What's  the  matter  with 
you  girls  anyway?  Here,  Miss  Baldwin,  come  back." 
With  a  flourish  he  pulled  out  my  chair.  "As  I  was  say- 
ing, when  I  was  interrupted " 

With  the  discovery  that  the  hour  was  even  earlier 
than  the  usual  time  for  finishing  dinner  my  apologetic 
attitude  died  a  sudden  death  and  something  uglier  was 
bom.     "Not  to-night,  thank  you, ' '  I  said,  pausing  on  the 

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MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

threshold.  "Some  other  time,  perhaps,  when  these 
ladies,"  with  a  smile  that  matched  their  own,  "will 
honor  us  with  their  company. ' ' 

From  that  evening  I  never  lingered  at  the  dinner-table 
after  the  other  women  had  left  the  room ;  nor  had  it  been 
by  any  means  my  custom  heretofore,  but  occasionally 
some  discussion  had  arisen  and,  when  the  others,  weary- 
ing of  the  talk,  withdrew,  I  remained  to  urge  on  the  com- 
batants and  see  which  side  would  triumph — but  this  was 
the  last  of  it ! 

While  I  was  indignant  that  they  should  call  us  to  ac- 
count— or  call  me  to  account,  for,  of  course,  they  consid- 
ered me  the  real  offender — I  also  understood  that  a  young 
woman  alone  is  always  under  suspicion  in  the  eyes  of 
somebody,  and  that  possibly  such  lingering  to  share  the 
conversation  in  the  dining-room — although  it  was  a  pub- 
lic place  and  one  boarder  had  as  much  right  there  as 
another — might  be  looked  upon  even  by  disinterested 
eyes  as  a  trespass  on  forbidden  ground.  Accordingly,  I 
now  denied  myself  the  innocent  diversion  of  an  after- 
dinner  chat. 

But  that  made  no  difference  in  the  situation,  after 
all;  the  women  didn't  like  me,  nor  did  I  like  them.  In 
the  first  place,  there  were  temperamental  differences 
which  would  militate  against  much  sympathy;  but  that 
wasn't  the  whole  of  it. 

What  they  envied  me  for  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  was  influenced  by  proximity  to  lives  that  were  so  much 
easier  than  my  own.  It  wasn't  the  material  comfort 
that  I  coveted  nor  their  freedom  from  the  task  of  self- 
support  ;  it  was  the  companionship,  the  affection,  that  I 
saw  so  close  at  hand,  which  emphasized  the  desolation 
of  my  own  existence.  Unquestionably  I  ought  not  to 
have  brooded  on  the  unequal  gifts  of  fate ;  but  I  have  no 
wish  to  make  myself  out  better  or  stronger  than  I  was, 
and  I  did  brood  on  the  contrast  in  our  lives.  Further- 
more, to  tame  the  human  heart  takes  time.  And  the 
10  137 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

memory  of  those  years,  when  I  habitually  cried  myself  to 
sleep,  haunts  me  even  now. 

When  I  returned  to  the  boarding  house  of  stormy 
evenings,  weary  and  bedraggled  after  a  long  day  of  hard 
work,  rounded  out  by  battling  with  the  crowds  for  stand- 
ing room  in  the  Elevated  train,  and  trudged  up  to  my 
room  often  too  exhausted  to  go  down  to  dinner,  the  sight 
of  those  three  women  fresh  and  rosy,  dressed  as  daintily 
as  dolls,  chatting  gayly  with  their  husbands  on  the  way 
downstairs,  was  more  than  I  could  bear  with  equanim- 
ity. Sometimes  it  is  the  little  things  that  affect  us  most, 
and  I  remember  to  this  day  the  swish  of  their  silk  petti- 
coats when  at  the  same  time  I  heard,  as  I  mounted 
wearily  from  step  to  step,  the  water  gurgling  in  my  own 
wet  shoes. 

It  wasn't  that  I  grudged  those  women  their  happiness, 
but  I  wanted  my  own  share :  all  the  more  fiercely,  per- 
haps, because  of  the  conviction  that  there  wasn't  any 
share  for  me ;  that  there  had  been  a  misdeal  somewhere, 
and  I  had  been  left  out.  Whether  there  was  something 
in  my  nature  from  the  start  to  account  for  the  belief  that 
what  I  wanted  most  was  and  would  ever  be  beyond  my 
reach,  or  whether  it  was  something  grafted  on  by  the 
somber  experiences  of  my  life  thus  far,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  at  any  rate  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  reality  of  my 
conviction,  nor  of  my  vehement  determination  to  hide  it 
from  the  world.  Not  only  would  I  not  acknowledge 
kinship  with  ' '  the  race  who  hawk  their  sorrows  in  the 
market  place, ' '  but  I  would  shield  the  real  suffering  self 
from  detection  by  any  prying  eyes.  If  I  could  not  be 
happy,  at  least  I  would  wear  the  garb  of  happiness. 

Accordingly,  I  exerted  myself  to  convey  at  all  times 
the  impression  of  cheerfulness,  and  I  believe  that  I  suc- 
ceeded. In  part  the  motive  was  altruistic ;  display  of 
cheerfulness  seemed  to  me  to  pertain  to  the  higher  mo- 
rality. But  there  was  a  selfish  motive,  too;  a  foolish 
pride  which  scorned  to  admit  defeat.     I  was  never  the 

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MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

kind  of  woman  to  stoop  to  verbal  falsehood  and  deceit; 
but  my  manner  in  public,  while  inwardly  I  was  seething 
in  rebellion  at  my  fate,  habitually  implied  content  with 
all  the  world.  In  the  seclusion  of  my  own  room  at 
night,  I  could  abandon  the  disguise,  but  elsewhere  I 
clung  to  it. 

I  myself  believe — though  at  the  time  I  had  no  idea  of 
it — that  the  joyous  manner  I  assumed,  with  its  implica- 
tion of  riding  the  top  crest  of  the  wave  of  prosperity  and 
happiness,  was  unconsciously  a  protest  against  daily 
contact  with  numberless  examples  of  self-confessed  de- 
feat. 

My  work,  as  I  have  said,  threw  me  entirely  among 
women.  In  the  early  days,  I  went  into  the  homes  of  the 
very  poor.  When  Mrs.  Grey  decided  later  on  that  my  time 
could  best  be  spent  in  the  office,  women  from  the  tene- 
ments came  to  consult  me  there.  There,  too,  at  intervals 
came  women  from  uptown  on  one  errand  or  another,  for 
our  office  grew  to  be  a  kind  of  clearing  house  for  many 
philanthropic  interests.  Some  of  the  visitors  were  pro- 
fessional women,  busy  all  day  long,  but  not  too  busy  to 
exert  themselves  for  the  girls  of  the  tenements ;  others  of 
the  visitors  were  of  the  very  rich,  whom  ennui  or  some 
impulse  of  benevolence  sent  spasmodically  to  work  on 
the  East  Side. 

The  point  of  all  this  is  that  I  was  brought  in  contact 
with  many  different  types  of  women,  the  majority  of 
them  unmarried.  With  their  financial  weal  or  woe  I  am 
not  here  concerned,  though  in  many  cases  the  struggle  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together  was  pitiful  enough.  But 
that  is  another  story.  I  am  dealing  here  with  heart 
interest. 

Suffering  so  keenly  from  loneliness  myself,  I  was 
alert  for  signs  of  similar  suffering  in  others ;  many  of  the 
women  talked  freely  to*  me,  and  in  other  cases  I  could 
read  between  the  lines.  My  sjmipathy  was  profound, 
but  I  was  also  impressed  with  the  lack  of  spirit  many  of 

139 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

those  women  showed ;  no  matter  what  their  age,  they  had 
a  resigned  way  of  speaking,  of  moving  about,  of  looking 
at  one,  as  if  life  had  worn  down  to  the  ragged  edge  their 
powers  of  resistance. 

Now  the  sight  of  this,  while  it  strengthened  my 
rebellious  attitude  toward  the  isolation  of  their  lives  and 
mine,  also  deepened  my  resolve  not  to  be  daunted  by  the 
worst  that  fate  could  do.  On  the  street,  in  the  surface 
cars,  in  the  Elevated  trains,  I  was  always  seeing  some 
woman — sometimes  young,  sometimes  middle-aged — who 
I  knew  was,  like  myself,  half  dead  of  loneliness.  My 
heart  ached  for  her,  but  I  could  scarcely  keep  from  whis- 
pering to  her:  "Don't,  dear,  don't  let  people  see.  They'll 
only  laugh.  Just  play  the  game  of  make-believe  till  it 
becomes  reality.  If  we  keep  on  saying  'I  don't  care, '  by 
and  by  it  will  be  the  truth. ' ' 

We  hear  much  nowadays  of  feminine  emancipation, 
of  the  danger  of  "cultivating  the  head  at  the  expense  of 
the  heart. "  Indeed,  an  audience  listening  to  some  advo- 
cate of  the  "new"  womanhood,  might  almost  be  par- 
doned for  supposing  that  the  nature  of  woman  had  been 
strangely  changed  since  the  Lord  God  made  her  to  be  the 
helpmate  of  the  man.  But  it  isn't  changed!  Despite 
surface  differences — due  to  the  material  progress  of  the 
race — between  us  and  our  great-great-great-great  grand- 
mothers, despite  the  fads  and  fancies  which  from  time  to 
time  ripple  the  surface  of  public  opinion,  despite  the 
preachers  who  from  fashionable  pulpits  attack  the 
"vices"  of  the  modem  woman,  despite  the  rampant 
reformers  who  berate  the  sex  for  its  alleged  refusal  to 
bear  as  many  children  as  it  should — despite  all  this,  the 
fact  remains  that  the  mass  of  women  are  now  essentially 
as  they  have  ever  been.  That  some  women  have  unwor- 
thy standards  and  lead  ignoble  lives  is  unquestionably 
true,  but  that  the  majority  to-day  crave  anything  except 
the  normal  life  of  wife  and  mother — the  kind  of  life  that 
best  benefits  humanity — is  false. 

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MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

It  is  just  this  craving,  as  I  experienced  it  myself  and 
observed  it  in  the  many,  many  unmarried  women  I  knew 
well  in  the  years  I  lived  alone  in  the  City  of  New  York, 
that  is  the  keynote  of  the  tragedy. 

Fiction  and  the  drama  have  often  depicted  the  fate  of 
her  who  gives  up  the  struggle,  who  turns  aside  from  the 
narrow  path  of  single  combat  to  what  one  modem  drama- 
tist has  called  "The  Easiest  Way."  We  are  all  familiar 
with  her  story,  and  from  the  moral  that  it  points  I  would 
not  eliminate  one  atom  of  significance.  But  what  of  the 
other  woman  who,  with  a  nature  perhaps  as  luxury-lov- 
ing as  her  sister's,  with  temptations  quite  as  plentiful, 
with  longings  for  affection  grown  more  intense  because 
unsatisfied,  single-handed  fights  to  the  last  ditch? 

There  are  thousands  of  such  women  in  New  York 
who,  for  all  the  social  opportunities  they  have,  might  as 
well  be  stranded  on  a  desert  island.  Country-bom  and 
bred,  of  high  ideals,  robust  health  and  trained  intelli- 
gence, they  are  drawn  in  early  years  to  the  metropolis, 
realizing  not  at  all  the  loneliness  that  awaits  them  there. 
Of  course,  for  many  women  romance  does  bud  in  city 
street  as  well  as  country  byway :  for  the  moment  each  is 
lovers'  lane.  But  there  are  many,  many  other  women 
for  whom  the  moment  never  comes.  I  know,  for  I  have 
seen  them  and  they  have  told  me.  I  have  seen  them, 
too,  and  they  have  not  told  me.  But  by  the  fevered,  un- 
hopeful waiting  in  their  eyes,  I  knew. 

Human  nature  is  everywhere  the  same,  but  conditions 
are  different.  In  New  York  the  machinery  of  life  is 
more  complicated  than  elsewhere  on  this  continent;  the 
commercial  spirit  dominates,  artificial  standai-ds  are  set 
up.  Every  condition  of  city  life  militates  against  the 
many  close  acquaintanceships  which  obtain  in  country 
communities ;  and  for  a  young  girl,  who  has  no  relatives 
or  friends  to  smooth  her  path  and  make  her  acquainted 
with  desirable  men  and  women,  to  come  to  the  metrop- 
olis to  earn  her  living  is  a  desperate  experiment. 

141 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Even  granted  that  she  is  equal  to  the  mere  struggle 
for  existence,  able  in  the  face  of  the  fiercest  competition 
to  forge  ahead  and  make  a  place  for  herself  in  business 
or  one  of  the  professions,  she  knows  nothing  of  the 
loneliness  it  costs.  She  may — she  may — attain  consider- 
able measure  of  worldly  prosperity :  but  prosperity  and 
happiness  are  not  synonymous.  And  she  may  marry 
happily.  But  under  conditions  such  as  I  have  set  down 
here,  especially  if  her  employment  has  thrown  her  entirely 
among  women,  the  chances  are  all  against  it.  By  the  time 
she  understands  the  needs  of  her  own  nature  and  realizes 
how  little  the  city  has  to  offer  for  the  hunger  of  the 
heart,  she  has  lost  her  chance  to  establish  herself  in  a 
home  elsewhere,  and  at  the  same  time  she  has  made  no 
headway  in  New  York.  Matrimonially  speaking,  she  has 
"sinned  away  her  day  of  grace." 

One  fact  that  has  a  bearing  on  this  unhappy  state  of 
things  is,  I  think,  the  traditional  "proper"  attitude  of 
youthful  femininity  toward  matrimony  itself.  We  know 
— or  we  might  know  if  we  stopped  to  think — that  the 
institution  is  indispensable,  that  with  all  the  imperfec- 
tions which  it  shares  in  common  with  other  human  insti- 
tutions, it  still  best  exemplifies  the  sanity  and  wisdom  of 
the  race ;  that  for  the  vast  majority  it  represents  the  only 
way  to  live  if  life  is  to  be  worth  living  and  the  individ- 
ual is  to  attain  the  highest  possible  efficiency  and  use- 
fulness. But  yet  every  mother's  daughter  is  brought  up 
to  act — or  at  least  to  talk — as  if  she  were  determined 
to  ignore  it!  In  our  hearts  we  loathe  the  possibility  of 
spinsterhood,  but  in  our  conversation  we  prate  much  of 
the  ' '  independence' '  of  the  bachelor  girl. 

It  is  only  the  little  children  who  are  really  frank. 
When  in  college,  I  taught  district  school.  One  rainy 
Saturday  afternoon,  two  little  girls  who  were  among  my 
pupils  came  to  call  on  me.  They  were  seven  years  old, 
and  the  woman  with  whom  I  boarded  brought  into  the 
room  a  big  blue  plate  of  chicken  sandwiches.     The  chil- 

142 


MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

dren  and  I  seized  on  them  eagerly,  and  the  pile  dwindled 
soon ;  at  last  only  one  sandwich  remained.  Each  child 
looked  longingly  at  it,  and  I  urged  each  in  turn  to  take 
it :  each  silently  and  sadly  shook  her  head.  But  by  and 
by  one  little  girl  furtively  reached  out  her  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  big  blue  plate.  Her  fingers  had  almost 
closed  on  the  solitary  sandwich,  when  the  other  seven- 
year-old  gasped:  "Oh,  you'll  be  an  old  maid!  Don't, 
Helen!"     And  Helen  didn't. 

I  cannot  see  why  any  self-respecting  young  woman 
should  hesitate  to  admit  a  general  wish  to  make  the 
right  kind  of  marriage,  any  more  than  to  acknowledge 
the  desirability  of  having  pure  air  to  breathe;  though  in 
my  own  early  years  I  would  have  died  rather  than  con- 
fess it,  and  since  then  I  have  witnessed  countless  instances 
of  similar  hypocrisy  in  others.  I'm  not  advocating  a 
shrieking  from  the  housetops  of  the  slogans,  "Give  me 
marriage  or  give  me  death,"  or  "A  man  at  any  cost," 
nor  a  proclaiming  of  one's  fondness  for  any  given  indi- 
vidual; there  is  no  danger,  I  believe,  that  any  self-respect- 
ing girl  will  cause  the  shrinking  violet  to  blush  with 
shame.  But  I  do  plead  for  honesty  of  attitude  toward 
the  institution  as  a  whole.  At  present  we  are  hedged 
about  with  hypocrisy.  And  the  sooner  we  have  done 
with  it  and  face  facts  as  they  are,  the  sooner  we  shall 
gain  in  reverence — and  be  better  fitted  to  do  a  woman's 
work. 

Where  lies  the  responsibility  for  the  conditions  that 
confront  us  in  the  cities,  I  do  not  know.  I  have  no  rem- 
edy to  propose ;  but  manifestly  there  is  something  wrong 
somewhere,  when  thousands  of  the  women  best  fitted  to 
be  wives  and  mothers,  women  who  are  genuinely  inter- 
ested in  the  betterment  of  the  race,  are,  from  lack  of 
opportunity  to  meet  suitable  mates,  doomed  to  live  alone. 

As  if  that  were  not  enough,  existence  is  made  still 
harder  by  the  thoughtlessness  and  selfishness  of  the  look- 
ers-on.    From  some,  the  spinster  must  endure  half-con- 

143 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

temptuous  pity,  from  others  open  ridicule.  Any  woman 
who  is  happily  married  should  fall  upon  her  knees  every 
day  she  lives  and  give  thanks  for  her  good  fortune.  But 
she  doesn't  do  it. 

Here  and  there,  perhaps,  is  one  who  does,  one  whose 
felicity  bears  fruit  in  gentleness  and  sympathy  for  those 
who  are  alone,  but — I  speak  from  long  experience — 
this  is  unusual.  Often  with  mild  wonder,  oftener  with 
frank  unconcern,  oftenest  with  amusement  do  happy 
women  regard  the  plight  of  their  unhappy  sisters. 
Married  women  as  a  class  take  everything  for  granted 
and  plume  themselves  on  their  good  fortune,  as  if 
unaided  they  had  accomplished  some  meritorious  deed. 
To  their  unmarried  acquaintances  they  give  the  most 
astounding  exhibitions  of  self-complacency.  For  that 
matter  even  the  most  unfortunate  of  wives,  she  who  has 
made  the  greatest  muddle  of  her  own  affairs,  who  may 
perhaps  have  been  pouring  her  grievances  into  some 
matron's  sympathetic  ears,  is  changed,  as  if  by  magic,  on 
the  entrance  of  a  spinster;  her  dejection  vanishes  at  once 
and,  from  superior  heights  of  wisdom  and  experience, 
she  begins  to  patronize  the  new  arrival.  But  when  the 
husband  is  prosperous,  when  the  wife  is  proud  of  him, 
there  are  no  limits  to  her  self-esteem. 

Thus  in  the  West  Fifty Street  house,  the  three 

married  women  whom  I  have  mentioned  lost  no  oppor- 
tunity to  snub  me  because  I  was  less  fortunate  than  they. 
Despite  their  dislike  of  me,  they  did  not  hesitate  in  the 
absence  of  their  husbands  to  consult  me  about  many 
things.  At  first  I  wondered  why ;  for  even  then  I  real- 
ized that  it  was  not  respect  for  my  opinion  that  sent 
them  knocking  on  my  door.  "But,  Miss  Baldwin, "  they 
would  say,  "you  don't  know  anything  of  life,"  And  no 
matter  what  the  subject  of  discussion,  some  one  of  the 
three  would  invariably  bring  up  with  this:  "Let  me  tell 
you,  as  a  married  woman,"  etc. 

Now,  of  course,  this  was  a  sore  point  with  me.  But  I 
144 


MRS.   MIGGS'S  BOARDING  HOUSE 

don't  think  they  ever  detected  it;  though  naturally  they 
realized  on  general  principles  that  any  woman  would 
rather  be  married  than  alone.  All  my  life  I  had  prac- 
ticed concealment  as  a  means  of  self-defense,  and  by  this 
time — when  I  was  twenty-four  years  old — I  was  rarely 
surprised  into  betraying  what  I  wished  most  of  all  to 
hide. 

Beginning  in  childhood  with  the  fierce  shielding  from 
observation  of  my  longing  for  my  absent  sister,  I  over- 
reached the  mark  in  college  where,  far  from  revealing 
my  fondness  for  Philip,  I  avoided  him  to  such  extent  that 
it  was  noticeable  among  thos6  who  saw  me  most.  They 
believed  that  I  disliked  him.  The  acquaintance,  too,  with 
Paul  Forsythe  which  ended — for  the  time,  at  least — in 
the  episode  at  Albany,  had  still  further  fostered  the  im- 
pulse toward  secretiveness ;  and  since  then,  with  the  emo- 
tional starvation  which  confronted  me  on  all  sides  of 
life,  there  grew  to  equal  intensity  determination  to  con- 
ceal it  from  the  eyes  of  every  one.  As  much  as  possible  I 
avoided  Mrs.  Post,  Mrs.  Earle,  and  Mrs.  Davison;  but 
when  our  meeting  was  inevitable,  I  forced  myself  to  be 
calm  and  suave. 

Aunt  Jane — my  mother's  aunt  who  at  grandfather's 
brought  me  up  after  my  mother's  death — was,  as  I  have 
said  before,  a  stem,  forbidding  woman.  She  seemed  to 
owe  the  world  a  grudge.  One  of  my  earliest  memories 
is  that  of  overhearing,  in  a  conversation  of  grown-ups  at 
the  post  office  one  day,  a  reference  to  my  Aunt  Jane  as 
an  ' '  old  maid. ' '  I  had  never  heard  the  term  before,  and 
to  my  childish  mind  it  not  unnaturally  represented  all 
that  was  unlovely  in  person  and  character.  I  supposed 
that  all  "old  maids"  were  like  Aunt  Jane  and  a  new 
terror  was  thus  added  to  my  idea  of  life. 

Later  wisdom  corrected  this,  but  the  sight  of  any  one 
who  seemed  to  owe  the  world  a  grudge  was  always 
repellent  to  me ;  and  from  the  day  when  the  suspicion 
first  came  over  me,  that  I,  too,  was  doomed  to  lifelong 

145 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

loneliness,  I  fought  against  displaying  resentment  or 
acerbity. 

While  in  college,  I  read  somewhere,  "Only  small 
natures  allow  life  to  embitter  them, ' '  and  this  made  a 
great  impression  on  my  mind ;  and  so,  although  I  could 
not  trample  underfoot  the  indignation  that  sprang  up 
when  those  three  women  snubbed  me  because  my  life 
was  less  full  than  their  own,  I  could  and  did  keep  it  from 
appearing  on  the  surface.  Outwardly,  at  least,  I  was 
unmoved,  and  though  the  effort  to  appear  so  may  have 
been  prompted  in  part  by  foolish  pride,  by  the  wish  not 
to  let  the  enemy  find  out  where  I  was  vulnerable,  I  believe 
that  it  was  also  in  some  measure  due  to  a  motive  that 
was  worthier. 


CHAPTER  XXVni 
THEODORE  PRIME 

THUS  the  long  weeks  passed,  bringing  on  the  spring. 
One  morning  before  breakfast,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Earle,  in  their  large  front  room  which  my  small 
hall  room  adjoined,  mentioned  some  entertainment  which 
they  were  that  evening  to  attend.  The  partition  between 
the  rooms  was  thin ;  in  addition,  there  was  a  connecting 
door,  and  unless  my  neighbors  cautiously  conversed  I 
could  not  help  hearing  what  they  said.  Several  times  I 
had  told  them  of  this  in  the  hope  of  saving  both  sides 
embarrassment ;  but  Mrs.  Earle  had  a  high-pitched  voice, 
and  her  husband's  voice,  though  low,  was  of  penetrating 
quality.  Any  one  who  has  ever  had  a  part — especially  a 
hall-room  part — in  the  utilitarian  existence  of  a  board- 
ing house,  knows  how  much  of  one's  neighbor's  privacy 
one  inevitably  shares. 

"  Suppose  we  take  Miss  Baldwin  along  to  the  blow-out 
to-night?"  suggested  Mr.  Earle.  "That  girl  doesn't 
have  any  fun. ' ' 

Ominous  silence  greeted  this.  I  coughed  as  loud  as  I 
could  to  let  them  know  that  I  was  there ;  being  in  the 
midst  of  dressing,  I  couldn't  run  away. 

Then  Mrs.  Earle  indignantly  burst  out,  "Not  much! 
If  she  goes  I  stay  at  home. ' ' 

The  man  laughed.  "You  women  are  a  jealous 
bunch,  aren't  you?" 

Again  there  was  silence  and  again  I  coughed.  A 
moment  later  Mrs.  Earle  exclaimed  dramatically,  and  I 

147 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

knew  how  her  eyes  flashed,  "You  must  choose  between 
us!" 

To  this  her  husband  unsentimentally  replied,  "Don't 
be  a  fool.  I  only  thought  it  would  be  decent  to  show 
her  a  good  time  for  once.  I'll  bet  she  doesn't  know  a 
soul  outside  this  house. ' ' 

"Well,  we're  not  responsible,"  insisted  Mrs.  Earle. 
And  the  incident  was  closed. 

About  Easter  Mrs.  Miggs,  the  landlady,  announced 
that  soon  a  young  architect  was  coming  to  the  house  for 
table  board.  To  admit  outsiders  to  her  dining-room  was 
in  violation  of  Mrs.  Miggs' s  strict  rule,  but  she  gave  us 
all  to  understand  that  there  were  extenuating  circum- 
stances in  this  young  man's  case;  his  mother  and  herself 
had  been  girls  together  in  Iowa,  and  ever  since  the  land- 
lady married  and  came  East  to  live,  over  thirty  years  be- 
fore, she  had  kept  up  correspondence  with  her  friend ; 
having  now  no  room  to  offer  to  the  son,  the  least  that 
she  could  do  was  to  find  lodging  for  him  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  have  him  come  to  her  house  for  his  meals. 

All  this  she  told  us  and  expressed  the  hope  that  her 
"family" — as  she  called  the  boarders — would  be  cordial 
to  the  stranger  and  make  him  feel  at  home.  She  had 
never  seen  him,  she  admitted,  but  was  confident  that  his 
mother's  son  could  not  fail  to  be  a  desirable  addition  to 
the  company. 

At  this  the  three  married  men  winked  at  me  as  if  to 
say,  "Here's  your  chance.  Miss  Baldwin,"  and  even  the 
manner  of  their  wives  took  on  a  tinge  of  cordiality.  For 
a  week  before  the  advent  of  Mr.  Prime,  my  experience 
was  not  unlike  that  of  a  girl  in  a  houseful  of  brothers 
who  scent  a  "beau"  in  the  distance  and  conduct  them- 
selves accordingly.  The  young  man's  future  and  my. 
own  figured  largely  in  the  conversation  at  dinner — an 
occasion  when  Mrs.  Miggs  was  in  the  kitchen  carving 
and  superintending  the  serving  of  the  meal — and  never 
had  I  entertained  so  poor  an  opinion  of  the  mental  cali- 

148 


THEODORE  PRIME 

ber  of  those  men  as  in  that  week  when,  seeing  that  their 
mention  of  the  Westerner  who  was  soon  to  join  us  teased 
me,  they  would  talk  of  nothing  else. 

"I'm  making  the  most  of  my  opportunities,"  Dr. 
Post  called  out  to  Mr.  Davison,  who  came  in  one  evening 
while  the  physician  and  myself  were  in  the  midst  of  an 
animated  discussion  at  dessert. 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Davison.  "When  Young 
Lochinvar  gets  here,  there'll  be  nothing  doing  in  our 
line." 

"Lochinvar!"  I  exclaimed.  "H'm!  He's  most  likely 
a  cowboy  and  has  never  seen  anything  except  a  ranch. ' ' 

"Ranch?"  queried  Mr.  Earle.  "The  very  thing 
for  you.  You  know  you  like  an  outdoor  life.  Don't  I 
hear  you  punishing  the  dumb-bells  every  morning  because 
you  haven't  time  to  walk  ten  miles?  Well,  you  won't 
need  dumb-bells  when  you  get  out  on  the  ranch." 

' '  '  Ranch'  sounds  good  to  me, ' '  Mr.  Davison  joined  in. 

"Say,  will  you  invite  us  all  to  visit  you?  It  would 
be  a  bully  place  for  a  vacation. ' ' 

"Yes,  two  weeks  would  go  a  long  way  on  a  ranch," 
Dr.  Post  agreed.     '  *  By  the  broncho  route. ' ' 

' '  That  reminds  me, ' '  Mr.  Earle  thoughtfully  stroked 
his  chin,  "suppose  you  just  set  aside  a  few  perfectly 
good,  gentle  bronchos  for  the  use  of  your  tenderfoot 
friends.  Lochinvar  might  be  careless  with  us.  Will 
you  ?' ' 

They  all  looked  at  me  and  of  course  I  blushed. 

"Lochinvar,"  I  muttered  contemptuously.  "Why 
don't  you  call  him  Jesse  James  and  be  done  with  it?" 

"Oh,  Lochinvar  suits  us,"  was  the  reply;  so  "Lochin- 
var' '  it  was  till  they  shortened  it  to  "  Lock, ' '  which  in 
turn  dwindled  soon  to  "L. " 

"For  you  know,  an  ell  is  an  addition,"  explained 
Mr.  Davison,  the  advertising  man,  "and  we  have  Mrs. 
Miggs's  own  word  for  it  that  'V  will  be  an  addition  to 
the  company. '  * 

149 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Hearing  so  much  talk  about  him  in  advance,  I  was 
not  unnaturally  prejudiced  against  the  man ;  furthermore, 
the  impression  conveyed  by  what  Mrs.  Miggs  herself  had 
said  was  that  of  an  unsophisticated  youth  who,  before 
leaving  his  prairie  home  for  the  first  time,  had  appealed 
to  his  mother's  friend  to  find  a  place  for  him  to  lay  his 
weary  head  on  arriving  in  New  York.  This  seemed  to  me 
to  indicate  that  he  was  inefficient;  and,  with  my  cus- 
tomary promptitude,  I  decided  that  he  was  unworthy  of 
regard :  for  self-reliance  was  a  quality  I  much  admired 
in  man. 

In  due  time  Mr.  Theodore  Prime  arrived  and  turned 
out  to  be  a  great  surprise.  He  was  of  medium  height, 
with  a  close-knit,  wiry  figure  which  at  once  impressed 
you  with  a  notion  of  his  strength.  Indeed,  there  was 
something  almost  belligerent  in  his  appearance;  in  his 
coal-black  hair  and  the  expression  of  his  eyes;  in  the  short 
bristling  mustache.  You  made  up  your  mind  the  first 
time  you  looked  at  him  that  he  had  fought  his  way 
through  life  with  bulldog  tenacity.  He  was  under  thirty, 
but  his  face  was  deeply  lined ;  and  yet  when  he  smiled — 
it  wasn't  often — his  expression  was  so  changed,  that  you 
modified  your  own  opinion  in  so  far  as  to  believe  that, 
despite  his  evident  ability  to  hold  his  own  in  any  fight, 
the  best  of  all  his  victories  had  been  owing  to  his  smile. 

I  could  see  that  Mrs.  Miggs,  who  had  looked  forward 
to  his  coming,  was  somewhat  disappointed;  instead  of 
playing  a  pseudo-maternal  role,  she  was  forced  to  con- 
tent herself  as  best  she  could  with  keeping  an  eye  on  him 
from  afar.  It  came  out  later  that,  instead  of  having  ap- 
pealed himself  to  Mrs.  Miggs  to  find  a  boarding  place 
for  him,  he  had  consented  to  eat  at  her  house  only  after 
much  pleading  on  his  mother's  part.  The  poor  woman 
.hoped  by  that  means  to  keep  in  touch  with  him. 

At  the  start  his  attitude  to  all  of  us  was  that  of  a 
young  man  bored.  He  made  brief,  almost  curt  responses 
to  the  remarks  which  the  men  of  the  household,  mindful 

150 


THEODORE  PRIME 

of  the  landlady's  request,  addressed  to  him;  and  then  the 
men  ignored  him.  That  roused  him,  and  presently  he 
exerted  himself  to  be  agreeable;  and  when  he  exerted 
himself  I  defy  any  one  to  find  fault  with  the  results.  By 
the  magic  of  his  smile  and  the  charm  of  what  he  said, 
he  pleased  everybody  when  he  cared  to  talk. 

When  he  didn't  care  to  talk,  it  was  plainly  evident 
and  no  one  tried  to  draw  him  into  conversation  then.  As 
time  went  on,  he  fitted  into  his  own  place;  the  men 
appeared  to  like  him  on  the  whole,  and  the  married 
women  vied  with  each  other  in  calling  to  the  surface 
"that  fascinating  smile. "  But  for  some  reason  I  wasn't 
favorably  impressed :  the  brusqueness  which  at  times  he 
showed  was  something  new  to  me.  It  differed  from  the 
habitual  good  nature  of  the  other  men  at  Mrs.  Miggs's, 
and  was  such  a  contrast  to  the  remembered  suavity  of 
Paul  Forsythe,  that  I  didn't  quite  know  what  to  make  of 
it ;  though,  as  I  recalled  what  depths  of  baseness  lurked 
beneath  Paul's  surface  smoothness,  I  was  conscious  of 
a  swift  rebound  of  friendliness  for  Mr.  Prime.  ' '  Better 
bluntness  and  decency, ' '  I  said,  *  *  than  polish  and  deceit. ' ' 

This  feeling  was  never  stronger  than  on  the  day  of 
my  first  long  talk  with  him  alone.  I  had  already  seen 
much  of  him  in  company;  with  others  of  Mrs.  Miggs's 
household,  we  had  both  been  members  of  a  theater-party 
which  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Post  gave  to  celebrate  their  wedding 
anniversary  in  April,  and  had  participated  in  several 
week-end  outings,  but  this  was  my  first  afternoon  alone 
with  him. 

The  place  was  Travers  Island,  where  we  went  for  the 
games  of  the  New  York  Athletic  Club.  The  day  was 
perfect  and  the  programme  full  of  interest;  but  as  I  sat 
there  looking  down  from  the  club-house  balcony,  the 
contests  before  me  were  cast  into  shade  by  the  more 
thrilling  events  the  man  beside  me  was  relating  from  his 
own  experience. 

"Yes,  I've  always  been  a  fighter,"  he  confessed. 
151 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

**rve  had  to  be.     My  father  kicked  me  out  of  doors 
when  I  was  thirteen  years  old. ' ' 

"But  why?"  I  gasped. 

"Because  he  was  a  drunken  brute." 

I  shuddered.    ' '  What  did  you  do  ?  Where  did  you  go  ?* ' 

"First  to  Des  Moines,  later  to  Chicago.  I  never 
went  home  again  for  twelve  years — till  my  father  died. ' ' 

"But  your  mother?  She  must  have  missed  you 
terribly. ' ' 

Prime  gave  a  short  laugh.  "Oh,  there  were  plenty 
more.  My  being  away  made  one  mouth  less  to  feed. 
Most  of  the  time  dad  was  out  of  work.  Even  when  I 
was  a  little  shaver,  I  sent  ma  money,  a  dollar  in  a  letter 
now  and  then ;  after  awhile  it  was  a  good  deal  more,  and 
when  dad  kicked  the  bucket  it  was  up  to  me  to  support 
the  family.  I  tried  to  manage  it  from  the  Chicago  end, 
but  it  was  a  long  ways  off;  so  I  gave  up  my  job  and 
made  tracks  for  home,  where  I  knew  I  could  get  work. 
But  mother — well — she  married  again  inside  a  year  and 
I  didn't  get  along  with  the  stepfather  any  better  than  I 
did  with  the  first,  so  I  lit  out  for  keeps  this  time  and 
went  back  to  Chicago.  Ma's  second  doesn't  drink,  I'll 
say  that  for  him,  but  he's  got  an  ugly  disposition  and — 
and  so  have  I  at  times. ' ' 

A  little  disturbed  by  the  tone  the  talk  had  taken,  I 
attempted  to  dispel  it  by  asking  lightly,  "This  isn't  one 
of  the  times,  is  it?" 

'  *  No, ' '  he  said  as  he  looked  away ;  and  I  was  struck 
by  something  in  his  manner  and  his  voice.  But  pres- 
ently he  turned  to  me  and  smiled,  and  it  was  as  if  the 
sun  that  had  been  behind  a  cloud  had  suddenly  come  out 
again. 

Before  the  afternoon  was  over,  he  told  me  much  of  his 
Chicago  life.  He  had  had  many  ups  and  downs,  had 
worked  first  and  last  for  many  architects.  He  mentioned 
their  names.  The  names  meant  nothing  to  me,  but  I  was 
impressed  by  the  variety. 

152 


THEODORE  PRIME 

*'Why  so  many?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Guess  I'm  naturally  a  rolling 
stone.  Never  have  any  trouble — like  pa  did — to  get  a 
job.  I'm  a  crackerjack  in  my  line,  you  understand." 
Then  he  told  me  that  he  had  won  three  competitive 
prizes  for  designs  for  public  buildings  and — what  I  had 
heard  before  from  Mrs.  Miggs — that  his  reason  for  com- 
ing East  this  spring  was  to  form  a  partnership  with  a 
New  York  architect. 

' '  I  knew  him  in  Chicago.  But  he  was  a  New  Yorker 
born  and  bred  and  couldn't  rest  easy  till  he  got  back 
East  again.  So  here  we  are,  and  we've  hung  out  our 
shingle  with  the  best  of  'em.  You  must  come  down  and 
see  our  offices  some  day.  They're  in  the  peachy  class, 
all  right — my  partner's  father  has  the  coin — but  once  in 
awhile,  as  I  look  at  all  that  elegance,  it  comes  over  me 
that  some  day  I  shall  put  the  whola  place  on  the  bum.  I 
don't  suppose  you  ever  felt  like  that?" 

"No,"  I  said.     "I  never  did." 

"Well,"  his  lips  twitched,  "you  thank  your  lucky 
stars." 

While  many  of  his  confidences  startled  me,  I  was 
interested  in  all  of  them  and  full  of  sympathy  for  the 
struggles  of  his  early  life.  But  there  was  no  danger  of 
my  falling  in  love  with  him.  On  the  contrary,  despite 
the  conviction  that  he  deserved  great  credit  for  what  he 
had  accomplished  in  the  face  of  obstacles,  there  was  an 
intangible  something  that  kept  me  from  wholly  liking 
him. 

And  yet  there  was  nothing  to  object  to  in  his  manner 
when  he  was  with  me.  I  have  said  that  he  was  blunt, 
but  bluntness  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  most 
respectful  and  considerate.  I  had  the  feeling  that  many 
of  his  women  friends  had  been  much  more  free  and  easy 
than  I  was,  and  that  he  wanted  me  to  understand  he  really 
' '  knew  how  to  treat  a  lady, "  as  he  would  have  said. 

When  the  warm  weather  came  on  in  earnest  I  saw 
11  153 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

even  more  of  Mr.  Prime.  His  partner  lived  in  Jersey, 
and  I  gathered  that  he  didn't  care  for  his  partner's  fam- 
ily; or  perhaps  they  didn't  care  for  him.  At  any  rate, 
Mr.  Prime  was  usually  in  New  York.  For  two  months, 
beginning  with  the  middle  of  June,  some  one  of  the  three 
couples  at  our  boarding  house  was  on  vacation,  and  those 
of  us  who  remained  formed  the  habit  of  keeping  each 
other  company.  I  had  less  regard  for  Mr.  Prime  than 
for  the  other  men ;  but,  as  he  was  the  only  bachelor  in 
the  party  and  I  was  the  only  unmarried  girl,  to  his  lot  it 
fell  to  take  care  of  me  on  our  summer-evening  jaunts. 

Almost  all  the  houses  in  this  part  of  West  Fifty 

Street  were  private  residences  and  had  been  boarded  up 
since  May.  At  the  Sixth  Avenue  end  of  the  block,  were 
several  boarding  houses ;  even  one  of  these  was  closed, 
and,  though  Mrs.  Miggs  prided  herself  on  keeping  her 
house  open  ' '  for  the  convenience  of  her  family, ' '  she  as- 
sured us  that  she  did  so  at  no  small  financial  loss. 

With  more  time  on  her  hands,  the  landlady  now  had 
greater  opportunity  to  show  her  interest  in  her  old 
friend's  son.  When  the  school-teacher  went  away  at  the 
end  of  June,  Mrs.  Miggs  urged  him  to  move  into  the  va- 
cant room.  But  he  refused,  insisting  that  he  was  very 
well  off  where  he  was;  his  evident  determination  not  to 
have  her  keeping  tabs  on  him  and  writing  to  his  mother 
what  time  he  came  in  of  nights  was  a  sore  disappoint- 
ment to  the  landlady,  but  she  regarded  with  approving 
eye  his  attentiveness  to  me. 

"You  have  such  a  good  influence  on  Theodore,"  she 
remarked  to  me  one  morning  at  breakfast,  when  no  one 
else  was  in  the  room.  "I  was  writing  to  his  mother  yes- 
terday that  she  needn't  worry  a  mite  about  him  now. 
It's  a  great  relief  to  me  that  you're  going  to  be  in  town 
all  summer.  Not  that  I'm  mistrusting  Theodore,"  she 
went  on  hastily,  as  one  who  fears  that  she  has  said  too 
much,  "but  young  men  have  so  many  temptations  in  a 
city  like  New  York. ' ' 

154 


THEODORE  PRIME 

Mrs.  Miggs  meant  well,  but  she  only  succeeded  in 
antagonizing  Mr.  Prime ;  and  to  my  commiseration  for 
the  struggles  of  his  early  life  was  added  sympathy  for 
the  nagging  to  which  he  was  subjected  now.  He  roused 
no  sentimental  interest  in  me ;  but  I  was  a  very  lonely 
girl  with  a  keen  zest  for  life,  and  welcomed  the  diversion 
that  his  society  supplied ;  furthermore,  by  this  time  I  had 
learned  to  take  people  as  I  found  them  and  not  expect  too 
much.  However,  his  experiences,  so  different  from  my 
own,  were  more  entertaining  than  any  book  I  knew ;  I 
was  always  wondering  what  he  would  do  next.  Then, 
too,  it  may  be  that  I  plumed  myself  a  little  on  being  a 
restraining  influence  in  this  young  man's  life;  and  if  a 
girl  can  only  believe — whether  there  is  ground  for  the 
belief  or  not — that  she  is  helping  a  young  man,  that  she 
is  keeping  him  out  of  mischief,  she  is  sure  to  look  upon 
him  with  some  degree  of  favor. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 
A  MIDSUMMER  SATURDAY 

AT  all  events,  by  midsummer  we  were  excellent 
friends.  For  several  years,  in  lieu  of  a  regular 
vacation,  I  had  had  a  half  holiday  every  other 
Saturday  from  June  until  September.  It  was  necessary 
for  some  one  in  authority  to  be  at  the  office  every  week 
day  all  day  long,  but  Mrs.  Grey  and  I  took  turns  at  a 
breathing  spell. 

One  sweltering  Saturday  in  August,  when  every  one 
who  could  had  gone  out  of  town,  I  was  hurrying  at  half 
past  one  o'clock  to  keep  a  luncheon  appointment  with 
Mr.  Prime.  His  office  was  uptown  and  mine  was  on  the 
lower  East  Side;  it  was  a  little  uncertain  just  when  I 
should  be  at  liberty,  so,  in  order  to  save  time  and  exer- 
tion for  us  both  on  such  a  broiling  day,  we  had  agreed 
that  I  should  meet  him  at  a  French  restaurant  down 
town. 

The  time  was  set  for  one  o'clock,  "or  as  soon  after 
one  as  I  can  get  there, ' '  I  reminded  him.  Our  plan  in- 
cluded a  cool,  leisurely  luncheon  and  afterward  a  sail, 
provided  a  breeze  should  spring  up  by  then,  with  perhaps 
a  roof  garden  later  and  a  drive  when  the  night  began  to 
cool. 

"But  we  won't  have  any  cast-iron  programme,"  he 
had  said  that  morning  after  breakfast,  when  we  left  the 
house  together,  "it'll  depend  on  how  we  feel." 

That  suited  me.  Indeed,  almost  anything  suited  me, 
so  long  as  I  was  not  alone.  Just  to  mingle  with  the 
crowds,  to  watch  the  diners  in  the  restaurants,  to  hear 

156 


A  MIDSUMMER  SATURDAY 

some  music,  to  walk  or  drive  or  sail — it  was  all  the 
same  to  me,  provided  there  was  some  reasonably  con- 
genial individual  on  hand  to  keep  me  company.  I  had 
been  so  much  alone  that  the  change  now  was  like  an 
oasis  in  the  desert.  And  so,  hurrying  to  the  restaurant 
where  Mr.  Prime  awaited  me  I  was  full  of  pleasant 
anticipations,  though  a  little  disturbed,  as  well,  by  the 
consciousness  that  I  was  late. 

As  he  started  up  to  meet  me,  instinctively  I  drew 
back;  if,  in  view  of  my  tardiness,  I  hadn't  looked  for 
"the  fascinating  smile"  so  popular  with  the  feminine 
members  of  Mrs.  Miggs's  household,  neither  was  I  pre- 
pared for  surliness.  "I've  been  waiting  half  an  hour," 
he  exclaimed,  scowling. 

"I'm  sorry, "  I  replied,  "but  you  know  I  warned  you  I 
might  be  detained. ' ' 

"Well,"  he  muttered,  "I  didn't  suppose  it  was  going 
to  be  like  this." 

"Neither  did  I,"  I  said  slowly,  my  tone  expressing 
the  full  measure  of  amazement  at  his  manner  and  his 
words.  He  had  been  blunt  before,  but  this  was  some- 
thing new. 

For  some  reason  he  couldn't  let  the  matter  drop.  As 
he  conducted  me  to  the  table  which  he  had  reserved,  he 
continued  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  drew  the  attention  of 
every  one  to  us,  "Of  course,  if  I  had  had  any  idea  that 
you  couldn't  separate  yourself  from  that  bunch  of  women 
before  this,  I'd  have  gone  down  there  and  dragged  you 
away.  I  got  through  by  twelve  to-day  and  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  kill  time  here. ' ' 

How  he  had  "killed  time"  was  becoming  plainer  to 
me  with  every  word  he  said ;  it  needed  not  the  smell  of 
his  breath  as  he  bent  toward  me  across  the  small  table, 
nor  the  shifting  of  his  eyes  to  make  me  understand.  I 
had  never  seen  him  like  this,  I  had  heard  nothing  definite 
concerning  him ;  and  in  a  city  like  New  York  a  girl,  who 
has  no  parents  or  other  relatives  to  investigate  a  man, 

157 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

knows  just  as  much  about  his  habits  as  he  cares  to  have 
her  know. 

"You've  kept  me  waiting  so  long  that  you'll  have  to 
be  mighty  nice  to  make  up  for  it,  miss, ' '  he  said ;  and 
then  to  the  waiter,  ' '  A  couple  of  Martinis — dry. ' ' 

When  the  waiter  disappeared  I  asked,  hoping  to  save 
argument  on  his  return,  "What  made  you  order  two?" 

"I  don't  intend  to  drink  alone,"  was  his  reply. 

"Well,  you  know,  water  is  all  I  drink.  I  never 
tasted  a  Martini  in  my  life. ' ' 

The  lines  about  his  mouth  deepened.  "You  never 
can  begin  any  younger  than  to-day. ' ' 

' '  I  never  shall  begin  at  all, ' '  said  I. 

He  laughed  unpleasantly  and  nothing  more  was  said 
just  then.  When  the  cocktails  were  set  before  us  he 
raised  his  glass  and  motioned  me  to  do  the  same  with 
mine. 

Slowly  I  shook  my  head. 

"Ah,  be  a  sport,"  he  urged.  "You  don't  know  what 
you  miss. ' ' 

Once  more  I  declined. 

"Well,"  he  sighed  a  little,  "here's  to  happy  days," 
and  gulped  down  the  contents  of  the  glass.  Then  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  sat  there  eying  me  in  a  way 
I  didn't  like.  "You're  looking  out  of  sight,"  he  said  at 
length ;  then  he  reached  across  the  table  for  the  second 
cocktail  and  hastily  drank  that. 

Such  was  the  beginning  of  the  luncheon.  The  food 
throughout  was  plentiful,  and  with  every  course  Prime 
partook  of  some  different  kind  of  drink.  He  insisted 
that  as  I  refused  to  join  him  in  "a  harmless  social  glass," 
the  responsibility  devolved  on  him  to  drink  enough  for 
two. 

The  place  was  well  filled  when  we  entered,  but  long 
before  we  left  there  were  few  to  witness  my  embarrass- 
ment All  through  luncheon  Prime  had  much  to  say; 
once  when  the  waiter  brought  on  a  certain  course,  he 

158 


A  MIDSUMMER  SATURDAY 

sent  it  back,  on  the  ground  that  the  waiter  was  inter- 
rupting him.  ' '  When  I  get  through  telling  the  story  of 
my  life,  I'll  let  you  know, ' '  he  said.  The  waiter  grinned 
and  hastily  withdrew. 

At  last  the  meal  was  finished,  the  cigar  was  smoked, 
the  check  was  paid — and  it  was  almost  five  o'clock.  My 
only  wish  was  to  get  out  of  the  restaurant  and  then 
home  as  soon  as  possible,  but  I  anticipated  diflftculty ;  at 
least  I  knew  that  I  must  count  on  long  arguments  before 
Prime  would  agree  to  any  plan  of  mine ;  naturally,  for 
the  sake  of  both  of  us,  I  wanted  to  avoid  a  scene,  and  I 
also  believed  that  I  could  manage  him  alone,  that  every- 
thing would  work  out  well  if  I  could  once  get  him  in  a 
cab;  for  myself — I  always  used  the  street-cars,  but  he 
was  in  no  state  for  street-cars  now.  Trying  to  keep 
out  of  my  voice  any  indication  of  this  fact,  I  proposed 
a  cab. 

"Of  course,"  he  snarled.  "Think  I  don't  know  how 
to  treat  a  girl  ?  Certainly  a  cab. ' '  He  rose  and,  standing 
by  the  table,  swayed  a  bit.  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  put 
out  one  arm  to  steady  him.  * 

But  he  brushed  me  angrily  aside.  "Where's  that 
damned  waiter?" 

The  waiter  hurried  forward.  ' '  Right  here,  sir, ' '  he 
said. 

"Well,  get  me  a  hansom  and  be  quick  about  it." 

While  we  stood  in  the  doorway,  waiting,  I  noticed 
that  a  thunder-storm  was  imminent.  ' '  I  hope  we  can  get 
home  before  it  rains, ' '  I  said,  looking  anxiously  at  the 
clouds. 

"Home?"  sneered  Prime.  But  the  hansom  drove  up 
then  and  he  went  through  the  motions  of  helping  me  in ; 
then  he  got  in  beside  me.     "You're  not  going  home. " 

"But  I  must,"  I  cried. 

An  ugly  look  came  into  the  man's  eyes.  "You're  a 
stubborn  piece,"  he  said.  "You  had  your  own  way  in 
the  restaurant.     It's  my  turn  now. " 

159 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

The  cabby  lifted  the  trapdoor  in  the  top.  "Where 
to,  sir?" 

"Oh,  drive  up  Broadway  till  I  tell  you  to  stop — and 
drive  slow. ' ' 

By  the  time  we  reached  Madison  Square  the  mutter  of 
distant  thunder  grew  louder,  vivid  lightning  flashed; 
every  one  in  the  park  at  our  right  and  in  the  streets  was 
scurrying  to  shelter.  Then  the  storm  broke  in  earnest : 
the  rain  came  down  in  sheets. 

Prime  pushed  up  the  trapdoor  in  the  roof  and  shouted 
to  the  driver,  "Fifth  Avenue  Hotel."  Almost  sooner 
than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  we  were  again  seated  at  a  small 
table  with  a  waiter  hovering  near. 

"Don't  want  anything  to  eat,"  said  Prime,  thrusting 
aside  the  menu  card.  "Full's  a  goat  now.  Bring  us 
two  highballs — one  rye,  t'other  Scotch.  Which  will  you 
have,  my  dear?  God  knows  I've  done  my  best  to  please 
you  by  ordering  'em  both. ' ' 

I  only  looked  at  him. 

When  the  waiter  brought  the  drinks.  Prime  devoured 
them  one  after  the  other  and  then  started  in  to  berate  the 
man,  asserting  that  he  had  served  an  inferior  brand  of 
rye  instead  of  the  one  ordered. 

The  waiter  denied  the  charge  and  Prime  in  turn  ac- 
cused him  more  emphatically.  I  sat  there,  trembling 
and  ashamed.  An  older  woman,  or  even  one  younger 
who  was  more  worldly  wise,  would  have  found  some  way 
out  of  her  predicament.     But  I  seemed  powerless. 

All  at  once,  however,  Prime  put  an  end  to  the  dis- 
pute. ' '  Come  on  out  of  here, ' '  he  said  to  me,  as  he  paid 
the  reckoning.     "We'll  go  uptown  and  get  some  beer. " 

The  thunder  and  lightning  had  now  ceased,  but  it 
was  still  raining  hard  when  the  cab  that  had  been  sum- 
moned drew  up  at  the  curb,  the  driver  huddled  in  his 
rubber  cape. 

"Pabst's,  in  Forty-Second  Street,"  said  Prime  to  him 
— this  was  before  the  days  of  the  Subway  in  New  York — 

160 


A  MIDSUMMER  SATURDAY 

and  then  attempted  to  assist  me  into  the  vehicle.  The 
attempt  amounted  to  a  push  so  violent  that,  once  on  the 
step,  I  fell  against  the  door ;  then  he  tumbled  in  after  me. 
I  regained  my  balance  and  seated  myself  as  far  from  him 
as  possible. 

But  at  best  it  wasn't  far;  and  when  the  door  was 
slammed  together  and  the  glass  had  been  let  down  in 
front  to  keep  out  the  rain,  he  turned  to  me.  And  I  real- 
ized that  we  were  in  close  quarters. 

' '  Here, ' '  he  commanded,  his  breath  hot  on  my  face, 
"give  me  a  kiss." 

"How  dare  you?"  I  cried,  flinging  up  both  arms  as 
a  barricade. 

"You  won't,  hey?  Well,  I'll— I'll— "  his  utterance 
was  a  little  thick,  "I'll  help  myself  to  as  many  as  I 
please. ' ' 

With  this  he  set  his  teeth,  seized  me  by  the  shoulders, 
and  bent  his  face  to  mine ;  drink  had  maddened  him,  but 
it  also  made  him  clumsy  and  slow.  I  shook  myself  free 
of  his  hold,  ducked  my  head  far  forward — and  his  kisses 
fell  on  my  coat-sleeve  and  my  hat. 

Then,  muttering  and  cursing  under  his  breath,  he 
took  a  new  clutch  on  me  and  succeeded  in  pinioning  both 
my  arms;  with  one  elbow  he  forced  my  head  violently 
back  and  for  an  instant  held  it  motionless.  But  before 
his  lips  reached  mine,  I  wriggled  my  arms  free  and 
pushed  his  face  away. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  hansom  lurched  heavily  to  the  left 
and  there  was  a  sound  of  interlocking  wheels  and  two 
angry  drivers  shouting  at  each  other  in  the  rain.  Prime 
let  go  of  me  and  peered  through  the  window  at  the  side; 
soon  the  trouble  outside  was  righted  and  we  started  on. 

Glancing  furtively  at  Prime,  I  saw  that  he  had  caught 
sight  of  himself  in  the  small  mirror  and  was  attempting 
to  straighten  his  tie.  Suddenly  the  driver  pulled  up 
short;  after  a  pause,  the  glass  slide  was  raised  and  the 
door  was  opened.     But  the  man  did  not  stir  and  I  sat 

161 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

rigid,  too.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  under  no  circum- 
stances to  alight  till  I  reached  the  boarding  house.  It 
was  bad  enough  to  be  alone  with  Prime;  to  appear  with 
him  at  any  public  place  was  now  impossible. 

The  driver  called  down  from  above.  * '  Here  we  are, 
sir.     Pabst's. " 

"Don't  like  the  looks  of  this  joint  to-day,"  Prime 
called  back  to  him.  "Take  us  to  Pabst's  in  'Hundred  'n 
Twenty-fif  Street." 

As  the  cab  started  in  obedience  to  this,  I  turned  to  the 
man  beside  me.    "Take  me  home  first,  please, ' '  I  begged. 

He  gripped  my  wrist  and  shook  it,  his  eyes  burning 
into  mine.     "I  tell  you,  you're  not  going  home." 

I  cringed  away  from  him. 

"What  do  you  mean,  dodging  me  like  that?"  he 
cried.  "Damn  you,  I'll  give  you  something  to  dodge 
for. ' '     Then  he  struck  me  in  the  face.  .  .  . 

There  is  no  need  to  chronicle  in  detail  all  the  occur- 
rences of  that  afternoon  and  evening;  the  man  was  vio- 
lent and  silly  and  childish  by  turns,  but  I  defended 
myself  from  all  his  varying  moods.  It  was  like  a  night- 
mare in  which  I  seemed  to  myself  to  be  trying  to  plow 
my  way  through  a  rough  bit  of  country,  beset  by  difficul- 
ties which  were  sometimes  absurd,  more  often  hideous, 
but  from  which  I  could  not  free  myself.  I  was  conscious, 
too,  at  intervals  of  the  jolting  of  the  cab;  now  and  then 
the  mud  splashed  up  against  the  glass  or  I  saw  the  street 
lights  blinking  through  the  rain. 

In  a  street  near  the  upper  end  of  Central  Park,  Prime 
chanced  to  notice  something  familiar  in  the  appearance 
of  a  summer  garden  we  were  passing ;  it  may  have  been 
the  Japanese  lanterns  swaying  on  the  piazza,  the  music, 
or  an  awning  flapping  in  the  wet;  at  any  rate  his  atten- 
tion was  diverted  from  the  destination  he  had  had  in 
mind  and  he  called  out  emphatically  that  this  was  the 
place  for  him.  It  was  indeed  a  favorite  haunt  of  his,  a 
restaurant  to  which  he  had  invited  a  party  of  us  from 

162 


A  MIDSUMMER  SATURDAY 

Mrs.  Miggs's  the  week  before.  There  was  a  young  lad 
there  whose  singing  advertised  the  place.  Even  now  we 
heard  his  voice. 

"Good  music,  good  beer,"  commented  Prime,  as  the 
cab  came  to  a  standstill.  Then  he  alighted  and  held  out 
his  hand  to  me. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  here,"  said  I.  He  turned  on  his 
heel  and  I  saw  him  go  into  the  house.  Then  the  cabby 
took  it  on  himself  to  dismount  from  his  perch  and  try  to 
reason  with  me.  "Why  don't  you  go  with  him,  miss?" 
he  asked.     "He's  a  good  sort. " 

I  gave  the  man  one  look  and  he  said  nothing  more. 

As  I  sat  there  awaiting  Prime's  return,  the  lights  of 
the  elevated  station  at  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street 
beckoned  invitingly.  In  a  few  minutes,  if  I  so  chose  I 
could  be  safe  at  home.  I  was  weary  and  heartsick,  and 
the  shelter  of  my  own  hall  bedroom  was  the  one  thing  I 
craved.  But  what  would  become  of  Prime  if  I  deserted 
him? 

I  knew  he  had  considerable  money  with  him ;  in  the 
restaurant  I  had  seen  the  roll  of  bills  from  which  he 
peeled  off  one  of  large  denomination  to  pay  the  luncheon 
check,  and  I  was  enough  his  friend  not  to  be  willing  to 
leave  him  in  his  present  state  at  the  mercy  of  whomsoever 
he  might  meet.  Having  fought  him  all  the  afternoon,  I 
knew  I  need  not  fear  him  now ;  and  I  resolved  to  stay 
where  I  was  till  he  returned ;  and  then  leave  him  safe  at 
his  own  door  as  soon  as  that  might  be.  But  the  lights 
in  the  elevated  station  seemed  to  be  winking  over  my 
discomfiture. 

When  Prime  reappeared,  he  was  full  of  a  new  song  he 
had  heard  and  nothing  would  do  but  he  must  sing  it  to 
me  then.  Meantime  I  told  the  cabby  to  drive  to  Prime's 
address.  But  he  noticed  what  I  said  and  called  out, 
"No,  no,"  telling  the  cabby  to  drive  somewhere  else. 

"Mr.  Prime,"  said  I,  looking  at  him  steadily,  "we 

are  going  to  Fifty Street. " 

163 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

His  answer  was  a  speechless  stare ;  and  I  understood 
that  the  collapse  of  his  will  left  me  in  control.  I  rose 
and  poking  the  tip  of  my  parasol  through  the  trapdoor 
repeated  the  address  and  told  the  driver  to  make  haste. 
Prime  was  maudlin  now,  a  disgusting  spectacle,  begging 
my  pardon  for  insulting  me  and  then  pleading  for  a  kiss 
all  in  the  same  breath. 

At  last  we  reached  the  house  where  the  young  man 
lodged ;  having  satisfied  myself  that  the  cabby  did  not 
overcharge  his  fare,  I  dismissed  the  hansom  and  helped 
Prime  up  the  steps,  praying  that  the  watchful  eye  of 
Mrs.  Miggs  might  not  be  turned  on  us. 

I  thought  he  would  never,  never,  unfasten  the  inside 
door;  the  outer  door  he  had  opened  without  much  delay, 
but  inside  the  vestibule  his  fingers  turned  to  thumbs. 
Once  he  dropped  the  latchkey  and  I  searched  for  some 
time  in  the  dark  before  regaining  it.  Then  he  snatched 
it  from  me,  and  whimpering  like  a  child,  fumbled  for  the 
keyhole;  finally  he  found  it,  the  door  opened  to  admit 
him,  he  staggered  inside — and  my  responsibility  was  at 
an  end. 

It  was  only  an  instant  then  till  I  scurried  down  the 
steps  and  traversed  the  short  distance  to  Mrs.  Miggs's. 
For  a  wonder  I  met  no  one.  The  outer  door  of  our 
boarding  house  was  not  yet  fastened  for  the  night,  so  I 
had  but  one  lock  to  turn  and  made  quick  work  of  that; 
then,  breathless,  ran  upstairs  to  my  hall  room. 

As  I  entered  my  own  door,  the  room  seemed  to  open 
almost  human  arms,  enfolding  me  with  the  sense  of 
quiet,  shelter,  peace.  In  the  long  nights  when  I  had  lain 
awake  or  cried  myself  to  sleep,  the  stillness  had  been 
almost  unendurable,  but  now  it  fell  upon  me  like  a  bene- 
diction. Gratefully  I  locked  the  door — the  door  which 
shielded  me  from  all  intrusion — and  sank  down  in  a 
chair. 

The  plight  of  a  woman  married  to  a  creature  like  him 
I  had  just  left  came  home  to  me  for  the  first  time;  here- 

164 


A  MIDSUMMER  SATURDAY 

tofore  I  had  thought  only  of  the  happy  women  and  had 
envied  them.     But  now  I  saw  there  was  another  side. 

What  I  had  that  day  experienced  was  too  ghastly  to 
relate  in  full,  yet  I  realized  that  it  was  only  a  fragment 
of  what  some  women  had  to  bear.  I  could  lock  the 
door !  For  me,  an  episode  like  this  need  never  be  re- 
peated.    What  if  I  were  tied  to  such  a  man  for  life? 

' '  I  know  something  now  of  how  a  woman  feels  who 
has  a  drunken  husband,"  I  thought,  shuddering.  "At 
least  I  am  spared  that. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  DRUNKARD'S  WARNING 

THE  next  day  was  Sunday.  Prime  did  not  appear 
at  breakfast,  but  came  in  late  for  the  midday 
dinner,  slouching  into  his  place ;  throughout  the 
meal  he  never  raised  his  eyes  nor  did  he  speak  to  any 
one  save  to  reply  in  monosyllables  when  he  was  ad- 
dressed. Once  or  twice  before  his  manner  had  been 
much  like  this,  but  then  I  attached  to  it  no  significance. 
Now  I  thought  I  understood. 

The  sight  of  him  brought  vividly  to  mind  yesterday's 
experience,  and,  wishing  to  banish  all  thought  of  it,  I 
finished  dinner  as  soon  as  possible  and  hurried  to  my 
room.  By  and  by  there  was  a  knock  on  the  door;  an- 
swering it,  I  found  the  waitress  and,  to  my  surprise,  she 
said,  "Mr.  Prime  is  in  the  parlor  and  wants  to  know  if 
he  can  see  you  for  a  minute  ?'  * 

I  stood  there  undecided,  wondering  what  to  say. 

' '  He  looks  sort — of  sick, ' '  volunteered  the  girl. 

"Tell  him—"  I  began.  "Tell  him  I'll  be  right 
down." 

On  the  staircase  I  caught  sight  of  him  through  a 
chink  in  the  folding  doors  and  noted  the  dejected  tilt  of 
his  head  as  he  paced  up  and  down  before  the  mantel- 
piece. He  looked  up  as  I  entered  and  then  swiftly  looked 
away. 

"I've  come  to  apologize,"  he  said,  tossing  his  hat  on 
the  piano-stool.     "And  I  want  to  tell  you  something. " 

His  presence  was  unwelcome,  but  I  reminded  myself 
that  having  consented  to  see  him  I  must  hear  what  he 

166 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  WARNING 

had  to  say ;  accordingly  I  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  gilt  chair  at  my  left. 

He  pulled  the  chair  up  nearer  and  seated  himself. 
"You  were  a  brick  yesterday,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

"Oh,  please,''  I  cried,  shrinking  a  little  in  spite  of 
myself,  "don't  let's  go  into  that." 

"I'd  give  a  lot  if  I  could  undo  it,"  the  man  replied. 
"I've  tried  hard  enough  to  keep  on  the  water  wagon  the 
last  two  months,  but — it's  no  use." 

"Don't  give  up  that  way,"  I  said,  gently.  "Every- 
body has  something  to  contend  with. " 

Savagely  he  turned  on  me.  "What  do  you  know 
about  it?"  he  demanded.  "I  tell  you,  it's  bom  in  me 
and  sure  to  come  out  when  I  least  expect  it.  Why,  I 
would  no  more  have  put  you  in  a  hole  like  that  than ' ' 

"Never  mind,"  I  interrupted  him,  "it's  over  now." 

"Yes,  it's  over,  all  right,"  he  agreed  in  a  grim  tone 
of  voice.  "I'm  no  kind  of  fellow  for  you  to  go  around 
with,  and  I  knew  it  from  the  start;  but  it  was  a  new  ex- 
j)erience  to  associate  with  a  girl  like  you,  and  I  thought 
perhaps  I  could  keep  straight.  But  when  a  thing  like 
that — craze  for  the  booze,  I  mean — is  in  the  blood,  noth- 
ing on  earth  can  keep  a  fellow  from  it.  I  remember  my 
father  when  I  was  a  kid — how  mother  used  to  try — and 
I've  watched  other  men  and  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about.  I've  taken  pledge  after  pledge  and  cure  after 
cure.  They  do  some  good,  up  to  a  certain  point,  and 
then, ' ' — he  threw  out  his  hands  with  a  despairing  ges- 
ture— "there's  the  devil  to  pay.  Don't  you  ever  let  any- 
body fool  you  with  that  pipe  dream  about  'reforming 
drunkards. '  It's  no  go. "  He  reached  over  to  the  piano- 
stool,  picked  up  his  hat,  put  it  on  his  knee,  twisted  it 
around  once  or  twice  and  said,  abruptly,  "I'm  going 
down  to  Bay  Ridge  for  the  rest  of  the  summer. ' '  Here 
he  rose.     "Will  you  shake  hands  for  good-by?" 

* '  Of  course, ' '  I  said,  rising  and  putting  out  my  hand. 
"And  I  wish  you  the  best  of  luck." 

167 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"Shouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  it  if  I  had  it,"  he 
replied,  despondently;  and  a  moment  later  the  door 
slammed  behind  him. 

Theodore  Prime  I  never  saw  again,  and  soon  I  was 
plmiged  into  a  period  of  perplexity  that  precluded  even 
the  thought  of  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
DEATH  OF  MRS.  GREY— MY  LIFE  DOWNTOWN 

IT  had  been  a  long  hot  summer,  trying  to  every  one. 
Mrs.  Grey,  the  woman  with  whom  I  had  been  asso- 
ciated ever  since  coming  to  New  York,  she  who  al- 
ways seemed  to  me  the  embodiment  of  health  and  energy, 
had  been  ailing  for  a  week  or  so ;  but  with  her  custom- 
ary spirit,  she  made  light  of  her  discomfort  and  went 
on  with  her  work.  One  evening  I  accompanied  her 
home,  as  I  often  did  when  we  had  urgent  matters  to  dis- 
cuss, and,  while  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  long  evening's 
work,  she  became  so  ill  that  I  sent  for  her  family  physi- 
cian. She  had  no  children  and  her  sister's  family,  who 
lived  with  her,  were  now  out  of  town. 

The  doctor  looked  very  grave,  and  I  gathered  that  he 
feared  appendicitis,  though  the  symptoms^  were  not  yet 
localized.  I  remained  with  her  all  night,  but,  of  course, 
a  nurse  was  in  attendance.  In  the  morning  Mrs.  Grey 
was  worse;  symptoms  of  peritonitis  had  developed  by 
that  time  and  the  family  physician  hastily  called  in  a 
surgeon  who  diagnosed  the  trouble  as  a  case  of  acute 
appendicitis,  and  said  that  in  an  immediate  operation  lay 
the  only  chance  to  save  the  patient's  life.  At  ten  o'clock 
they  operated.     That  evening  Mrs.  Grey  was  dead. 

When  my  parents  died,  I  was  too  young  to  realize 
what  it  meant :  now  I  felt  that  I  had  lost  my  only  friend. 
Those  first  few  days,  of  course,  were  so  crowded  with 
melancholy  duties,  that  there  was  time  to  think  only  of 
what  must  then  be  done ;  but  when  everything  was  over 
and  I  went  back  to  the  boarding  house,  when  I  took  up 
12  169 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

again  the  daily  round  of  routine,  I  knew  the  full  measure 
of  my  loss. 

In  the  office  I  was  restless  and  depressed.  For  a  long 
time  indeed  I  had  chafed  against  the  monotony,  the 
atmosphere  of  gloom,  the  constant  contact  with  saddened 
and  embittered  lives:  now  there  was  nothing  to  relieve 
the  sombemess,  and  the  future  loomed  up  blacker  still. 
Heretofore,  I  had  had  at  least  the  consciousness  that  I 
was  helping  Mrs.  Grey.  But  now  she  was  gone.  Under 
the  circumstances  of  my  life,  with  a  temperament  like 
mine — incapable  of  viewing  any  relation  impersonally — 
her  death  was  of  profound  significance;  not  only  did  it 
sunder  my  closest  tie,  but  it  left  me  with  no  courage,  no 
inspiration  for  my  work. 

The  self-supporting  women,  with  whom  that  work 
brought  me  in  touch,  I  pitied  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart;  but  I  understood  too  well  the  real  sorrows  (as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  superficial  struggles)  of  their  lives 
to  believe  that  I  could  furnish  any  real  help.  In  other 
words,  I  could  not  single  out  any  one  woman  and  make 
a  friend  of  her.  The  sight  of  all  of  them  depressed  me 
more  and  more.  Like  themselves  I,  too,  was  walking  in 
the  dark ;  and  all  the  instincts  of  our  nature — theirs  and 
mine — cried  out  for  light  and  love. 

At  this  time,  too,  came  developments  which  aggra- 
vated my  general  state  of  discontent.  Heretofore  I  had 
had  definite  oflSce  hours,  or  when  I  did  work  overtime  it 
was  in  a  different  atmosphere,  in  the  uptown  home  of 
Mrs.  Grey.  I  have  said  that  there  was  never  any  dis- 
agreement between  us  two ;  but  the  hours  when  I  was 
happiest  with  her  were  the  evenings  when,  in  her  home 
she  cast  off  her  official  character  along  with  her  business 
suit  and  we  were  friends  first  and  fellow  workers  after- 
ward. Then,  too,  the  hours  when  I  was  free,  I  was  far 
removed  from  the  atmosphere  of  shop.  But  now  all 
this  was  at  an  end. 

After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Grey,  the  society  which  then 
170 


DEATH  OF  MRS.   GREY 

superintended  our  activities  was  reorganized  and  the 
philanthropic  work  was  mapped  out  on  a  larger  scale. 
With  more  money  at  their  disposal,  the  new  officers  intro- 
duced many  changes  in  policy  and  management;  there 
were  many  changes,  too,  in  the  office  force.  But  viewing 
as  an  asset  my  years  of  training  and  experience,  estima- 
ting at  some  worth  the  fact  that  I  had  been  associated 
with  Mrs.  Grey  from  the  very  start,  they  made  me  a  lib- 
eral offer  to  continue  with  the  work ;  the  only  condition 
they  imposed  was  that  I  must  live  in  the  downtown 
house  which  the  society  had  recently  acquired,  and  must 
exercise  some  jurisdiction  over  the  limited  number  of 
young  girls  for  whom  it  was  the  aim  of  the  society 
to  provide  a  temporary  home  on  their  arrival  in  New 
York. 

This  condition  was  irksome  to  me ;  but  it  was  a  sine 
qua  non  of  the  offer  made  by  the  society,  and  I  accepted 
it.  Under  the  circumstances,  to  decline  an  offer  so  lib- 
eral would  have  seemed  the  height  of  folly,  though  had 
another  position  in  a  more  congenial  field,  even  at  less 
salary,  presented  itself  at  the  same  time,  I  should  have 
hesitated  not  at  all  to  make  a  change. 

But  with  nothing  else  in  prospect,  I  could  not  afford 
to  lose  my  hold  on  a  sure  means  of  a  livelihood.  I  had 
seen  too  many  women  out  of  work,  had  searched  too 
long  and  arduously  to  find  employment  for  the  many 
well-equipped  applicants  who  thronged  our  office — to  say 
nothing  of  fruitless  effort  in  behalf  of  the  incompetent — 
to  run  the  risk  in  my  own  case  of  like  experience. 

And  so  I  stayed  on  where  I  was  and  tried  to  be  grate- 
ful that  I  was  not  adrift.  I  remembered,  too — but 
remembered  only  to  reject — the  customary  rejoinder  of 
Aunt  Jane  when  in  childhood  I  pleaded  without  avail  for 
something  that  I  craved. 

"Think  how  much  better  off  you  are  than  many  other 
folks, ' '  was  her  unvarying  reply.  Even  then  it  was  cold 
comfort,  and  as  I  grew  older  it  seemed  to  have  something 

171 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

ignoble  in  it,  to  savor  of  the  Pharisee.  In  the  hall  bed- 
room of  a  boarding  house  I  had  long  ago  believed  I  found 
the  heart  of  solitude.  Now  I  was  in  a  hotbed  of  malice 
and  distrust,  owing  to  the  gossip  (which,  it  seems  to  me, 
is  always  pettier  in  a  community  made  up  exclusively  of 
members  of  the  same  sex)  and  to  the  jealousy  of  some  of 
my  subordinates  who,  in  years  older  than  myself,  re- 
sented having  at  their  head  a  woman  of  my  age. 

Thus  I  walked  carefully,  ever  on  my  guard.  Part  of 
a  great  machine,  I  still  stood  at  a  distance  and  watched 
the  wheels  go  round.  This  does  not  mean  that  I  failed 
in  any  duty — so  far  as  it  was  given  me  to  see  what  my 
duty  was.  I  toiled  unceasingly  and  was  able  at  all  times, 
I  believe,  to  give  a  good  account  of  my  stewardship.  Con- 
scious of  the  dull  ache  of  discontent,  I  still  wore  the  garb 
of  cheerfulness  as  if  it  had  been  fitted  to  me;  and,  in 
helping  others,  tried  to  forget  myself. 

But  by  the  time  my  twenty-sixth  birthday  came 
round,  after  more  than  a  year  of  residence  in  the  institu- 
tional house  maintained  by  the  society,  I  admitted  to 
myself  that  it  daily  grew  more  difficult  to  keep  up  the 
disguise.  At  heart  I  was  like  a  prisoned  creature  beat- 
ing against  the  bars ;  and  under  such  circumstances,  to 
realize  my  ideal  of  a  well-poised  woman,  self-reliant  and 
sustained,  seemed  utterly  impossible. 

The  sight  of  young  girls  coming  constantly  to  the 
city  to  make  their  way  alone  was  so  pitiful,  that  to 
myself  the  very  depth  of  my  sympathy  seemed  a  bar  to 
usefulness.  "A  counselor  of  young  girls,"  I  said, 
"should  have  more  serenity. " 

According  to  the  regulations,  no  newcomer  could 
remain  longer  than  a  month  in  the  house  where  I  was  in 
residence;  and  it  was  part  of  my  duty  to  advise  the 
strangers  in  the  discouraging  matter  of  obtaining  work 
and  to  help  them  find  a  boarding  place.  I  now  have  rea- 
son to  believe  that  I  did  counsel  them  wisely,  for  with 
many  of  them  I  have  since  kept  more  or  less  in  touch. 

172 


DEATH  OF  MRS.   GREY 

But  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  I  was  in  depths  of 
despondency  regarding  my  own  efficiency. 

Then,  too,  the  misery  I  saw  in  the  older  women's 
faces  depressed  me  more  and  more.  In  the  round  of 
routine,  I  observed  hundreds  of  unmarried  women  suffer- 
ing from  poverty,  overwork,  ill  health,  and  loneliness; 
women  who,  I  believed  then  and  am  even  more  convinced- 
to-day,  would  have  been  strong,  efficient  creatures,  had 
they  had  half  a  chance  for  happiness,  could  they  only 
have  lived  a  normal  life. 

Many  of  them,  to  be  sure,  had  developed  eccentrici- 
ties, they  displayed  unlovely  oddities  and  irritating  faults. 
But  all  this  I  looked  upon  as  part  of  the  tragedy.  Na- 
ture is  inexorable :  when  we  break  her  laws,  we  must  pay 
the  penalty,  and  there  is  no  mitigation  of  the  penalty  be- 
cause of  the  offender's  ignorance.  Celibacy  is  unnatural : 
the  celibate  must  atone.  On  the  one  hand  are  the  primal 
needs  of  nature:  on  the  other  hand,  conditions  which 
prevent  fulfillment  of  those  needs.  If  the  women  to 
whom  I  am  referring  here  had  understood  their  own 
nature  and  the  conditions  of  existence  in  New  York — if 
I  had  understood — doubtless  they  and  I  would  have  re- 
mained in  the  country,  where  there  would  have  been  at 
least  the  average  opportunities  for  normal,  natural  living 
that  come  to  country  girls. 

Right  here  I  wish  to  make  it  very  plain  that  I  do  not 
represent  the  unmarried  working  woman  in  New  York  as 
a  blatant,  querulous  creature  dwelling  on  the  injustice 
of  her  lot.  If  I  did,  she  would  be  the  first  to  accuse  me 
of  untruth.  Ah,  no,  the  vast  majority  are  marvels  of 
silence  and  bravery.  It  is  only  I  who  am  trying  here  to 
give  a  faithful  picture  of  conditions  that  I  know  exist. 

The  tacit  uncomplaining  misery  I  discerned  in  those 
about  me,  coupled  with  the  culminative  influences  of  my 
own  lonely  years,  now  bore  bitter  fruit.  "And  is  this 
all  there  is?"  I  asked  myself,  "for  me  and  for  thousands 
of  women  like  me  in  New  York  ?   Just  to  work  and  work 

173 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

and  work  in  order  that,  when  one  is  too  old  to  work,  she 
may  be  able  to  pay  for  necessary  care,  may  die  in  her 
own  bed  in  some  forlorn  hotel  or  boarding  house  and  be 
decently  interred  from  her  own  savings,  instead  of  being 
carried  from  the  almshouse  or  old  ladies'  home  to  be 
buried  by  charity  ?  Is  there  nothing  in  existence,  then, 
but  an  agony  of  yearning?  Nothing  but  the  lifelong 
torture  of  hope  baffled  and  denied  ?  Is  hunger  planted  in 
us  only  that  we  may  be  starved  ?  Then  why  prolong  the 
struggle?    Why  not  have  done  with  it  at  once?" 

That  such  brooding  was  unwholesome  and  unsafe,  I 
fully  understood :  in  the  newspapers  from  time  to  time  I 
had  read  of  suicides  for  which  no  reason  was  assigned, 
but  to  which  I  felt  I  held  the  clue ;  not  only  had  I  read  of 
them,  but  I  had  known  instances  myself  where,  after 
fighting  long  against  conditions  she  seemed  powerless  to 
change,  some  desolate  woman  had  taken  her  own  life; 
then  there  were  other  women  who  confessed  to  me  that 
the  burden  of  deprivation  and  loneliness  was  getting  to 
be  unendurable.  "Some  day  I  shall  end  it  all, "  said  one 
after  another  to  me  in  confidence. 

Then,  of  course,  I  did  what  was  expected  of  me:  I 
told  them  that  such  talk  was  worse  than  foolish — it  was 
wrong,  I  said ;  and  as  earnestly  as  if  the  same  temptation 
were  not  hanging  over  me,  I  tried  to  make  them  view 
life  in  more  cheerful  light.  Indeed,  it  may  have  been 
just  because  the  same  temptation  was  hanging  over  me 
that  my  words  rang  true  to  them.  In  persuading  others, 
I  attempted  to  convince  myself,  but  in  my  inmost  soul 
the  conviction  took  firm  root  that,  for  some  tempera- 
ments, with  no  outlet  for  the  need  of  loving  that  quiv- 
ered ever  in  the  heart,  such  end  was  inevitable. 

I  was  familiar,  too,  with  the  hasty,  ill-advised  mar- 
riage which,  failing  any  other,  women  often  make ;  for 
after  all,  with  some  of  us  not  happiness  but  completeness 
is  the  inmost  craving.  Many  women  would  rather  drink 
a  poisoned  draught  than  die  of  thirst.     And  time  and 

174 


DEATH  OF  MRS.   GREY 

time  again  have  I  seen  them  rushing  on  a  fate  which  to  all 
eyes  but  theirs  was  evident  from  the  first.  And  it  may  be 
that  even  they  were  less  blinded  than  onlookers  thought. 

I  remember  one  fine,  handsome  girl — music  teacher 
in  a  boarding  school,  she  was — who  ran  away  with  the 
only  man  she  saw,  the  janitor  of  a  nearby  apartment 
house.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  it  at  the 
time  and  almost  everybody  called  the  girl  a  fool  and  pre- 
dicted, truthfully  enough,  first  separation,  later  a  divorce. 

Now,  that  girl — I  chanced  to  know — was  an  orphan 
without  a  near  relative  on  earth  and,  after  the  death  of 
her  father,  a  New  England  clergyman,  she  had  come  to 
New  York  to  make  her  way  alone.  If  she  had  had  a 
home  and  average  social  opportunities ;  if  she  could  have 
met  men  normally  as  girls  can  who  live  at  home;  if, 
even  though  she  was  a  homeless  orphan,  through  the 
nature  of  her  employment  she  had  been  in  the  way  of 
meeting  men  whose  circumstances  and  upbringing  were 
more  like  her  own,  there  would  have  been  little  danger, 
I  believe,  of  her  marrying  as  she  did.  And  my  blood 
used  to  boil  when  I  heard  women,  who  had  never  had  a 
wish  ungratified,  ridiculing  her.  Human  nature  is  pretty 
much  the  same  in  all  of  us,  and  it  is  unsafe  to  boast  of 
what  we  would  or  would  not  do  in  any  given  case :  we 
never  can  predicate  with  certainty  our  conduct  in  emer- 
gencies which  never  have  confronted  us.  Heredity, 
habit,  training  count  for  much.  But  sometimes  they 
leave  us  in  the  lurch. 

In  conditions  as  I  scanned  them  far  and  wide  among 
women  who  were  placed  much  as  I  was  myself,  there 
seemed  for  most  of  us  little  likelihood  of  sanity  and  poise 
where  the  primal  relations  were  concerned ;  and  watching 
the  working-out  of  feminine  psychology,  I  was  afraid  of 
the  coming  years.  I  could  no  longer  live  from  day  to 
day ;  more  and  more  all  through  that  autumn  I  felt  that, 
in  some  way,  I  must  change  my  environment.  But  I  was 
at  my  wits'  end  what  to  do. 

175 


CHAPTER  XXXn 
DR.  POST  ADVISES  CHANGE 

THIS  was  the  situation  then  when,  one  raw,  bleak 
forenoon  in  November  on  the  Elevated  train,  as  I 
was  returning  from  a  call  on  a  young  girl  who 
had  recently  left  the  settlement  and  had  fallen  ill  in  a 
Harlem  boarding  house,   I  met  Dr.  Post,  who  with  his 
wife  had  boarded  at  Mrs,  Miggs's. 

After  we  had  explained  to  each  other  the  whyness  of 
the  whereness  of  an  unaccustomed  hour,  and  after  I  had 
inquired  for  Mrs.  Post,  the  physician  said,  eying  me 
critically  meanwhile:  "You're  not  looking  well,  Miss 
Baldwin.     What's  the  matter?" 

Ordinarily  I  should  have  laughed  and  said,  * '  Nothing 
in  the  world."  But  to-day  I  was  in  that  state  of  mind 
in  which  one  clutches  at  a  straw.  Dr.  Post  had  always 
been  friendly;  he  might  see  some  way  now  out  of  my 
predicament.  We  could  talk  in  comfort  at  this  time  of 
day,  for  the  rush  hour  crowds  had  gone.  And  so,  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  I  replied :  * '  My  work  is  a  great  strain 
upon  the  sympathies.  I'm  dealing  with  women — the 
poor,  sick,  and  unfortunate — most  of  the  time. ' '  And  I 
told  him  of  the  young  girl  in  Harlem  on  whom  I  had  just 
called.  "If  I  could  only  really  help  girls  like  her!  If  I 
could  keep  them  from  coming  to  New  York.  But, ' '  with 
a  sigh,  "it's  a  forlorn  hope." 

"What's  the  name  of  your  concern?" 

I  told  him. 

"How  long  have  you  been  with  them?" 
176 


DR.   POST.  ADVISES  CHANGE 

"Ever  since  I  came  to  New  York,"  said  I.  "Seven 
years  this  fall. ' ' 

He  nodded  his  head  a  little.  "Young  lady,  you  need 
a  change. ' ' 

' '  I  know  it, ' '  said  I.  *  *  But  I  have  to  work,  and  I  can't 
throw  up  a  good  job  with  nothing  else  in  prospect.  You 
see,  Dr.  Post,  our  society  maintains  as  one  of  its  side 
issues  an  employment  bureau  for  governesses,  nursery 
maids,  and  household  workers  of  all  sorts ;  and  I  know 
how  difficult  it  is  to  place  applicants  even  in  those  lines. 
As  for  myself — well,  for  a  long  time  I've  wanted  to  make 
a  change.     But  I  don't  see  any  way. " 

Dr.  Post  looked  thoughtful.  "You're  office  manager 
down  there,  aren't  you?" 

"That's  what  it's  called,"  said  I.  "But  I  have 
grown  up  in  the  work  and  can  turn  my  hand  to  anything. 
I  started  in  nominally  as  secretary  to  Mrs.  Grey,  who 
organized  the  society.  And  as  time  went  on  I  made  my 
own  position. ' ' 

"They  pay  you  a  good  salary?" 

I  told  him  what  it  was. 

He  seemed  surprised.  "Well  if  you're  worth  all  that 
to  them  you  ought  to  be  worth  as  much  or  more  to  some- 
body else. ' ' 

"But  I  don't  know  'somebody  else,'"  I  retorted, 
smilingly. 

"^y. "  exclaimed  Dr.  Post  a  moment  later,  "an  idea 
just  struck  me.  But, ' '  looking  out  of  the  window,  ' '  I 
have  to  get  off  next  stop.  Could  you  walk  over  toward 
Lexington  Avenue  with  me  ?  Then  I  could  tell  you  this 
idea  of  mine  and  keep  my  appointment,  too. ' ' 

"Certainly,"  I  replied;  and  we  left  the  train  to- 
gether. 

On  the  street  Dr.  Post  continued:  "There  may  be 
nothing  in  this,  but  at  all  events  it  won't  do  any  harm  to 
try.  You've  heard  of  the  Vilmerding-Eems  Company,  of 
Denver,  haven '  t  you  ? ' ' 

177 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"Oh,  yes.  In  the  office  we've  always  used  the  out- 
put of  their  factory.     It's  a  good  thing, " 

"They're  a  high-class  concern  all  right,"  he  said. 
"I  was  bom  and  brought  up  in  Denver.  Used  to  go  to 
school  with  Vilmerding,  who's  now  president  of  the 
company.  He  was  older  than  I,  and  I  looked  up  to  him 
with  a  small  chap's  admiration  for  the  big  fellow  who 
backs  him  in  every  scrap.  Well,  Vilmerding  didn't  have 
any  money,  but  success  was  bom  in  him.  He  got  a  job 
with  this  concern  down  near  the  foot  and  walked  right 
along  up  till  now  he's  president.  I've  just  been  out  home 
to  see  my  mother  and  on  the  train  I  ran  into  Vilmerding. 
I  hadn't  seen  him  for  years,  but  he's  just  the  same — 
best  natured  fellow  in  the  world.  He  was  telling  me 
they're  going  to  open  a  branch  office  here  the  first  of  the 
year  and  it  struck  me,  just  now  in  the  Elevated,  that 
there  might  be  some  chance  for  you.  Vilmerding  said 
he  was  having  trouble  in  getting  the  right  help.  They 
could  bring  people  on  from  Denver,  but  they  don't  want 
to  cripple  the  force  there.  He  just  mentioned  it,  you 
know,  by  way  of  conversation,  but  there  may  be  some- 
thing in  it.  Anjrway,  I'll  give  you  a  card  to  Vilmerding 
and  you  can  write  to  him.  I  should  think, ' '  he  mused, 
"you'd  be  just  the  person  for  office  manager." 

Thereupon  Dr.  Post  took  out  a  visiting  card,  wrote 
something  on  it  and  gave  the  card  to  me.  I  thanked 
him,  he  wished  me  good  luck  and  we  said  good-by. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 
ASKING  MR.   VILMERDING  FOR  WORK 

NO  longer  purposeless,  I  resumed  the  journey  down- 
town, glancing  frequently  at  the  card  Dr.  Post 
had  given  me.  In  the  evening  I  wrote  to  Mr. 
Vilmerding,  enclosing  the  card  of  introduction.  I  used 
office  stationery,  but,  thinking  I  could  state  my  own  case 
better  in  a  personal  interview  than  by  letter,  I  gave  little 
information  about  myself,  simply  asking  for  an  appoint- 
ment when  he  was  next  in  town. 

In  due  time  came  a  reply  from  Mr.  Vilmerding, 
saying  he  expected  to  be  in  New  York  within  ten  days, 
and  that  he  would  be  glad  to  see  me  then.  A  week  later 
came  a  telegram  from  the  Vilmerding-Eems  Company 
informing  me  that  Mr.  Vilmerding  would  see  me  at  the 
Waldorf-Astoria  on  Monday  afternoon  at  four  o'clock. 

It  was  already  Monday  afternoon  when  the  telegram 
arrived ;  indeed,  it  was  only  an  hour  before  the  time  set 
for  me  to  call  at  the  hotel  uptown.  However,  by  dint  of 
much  hurrying  I  managed  to  present  myself  before  one 
of  the  Waldorf -Astoria's  gilded  clerks  at  four  o'clock ; 
and  I  asked  for  "Mr.  Vilmerding." 

Of  course,  I  should  have  sent  up  my  card  with  the 
name  of  the  man  whom  I  wished  to  see  written  on  it : 
but  in  my  haste  I  had  forgotten  my  cardcase,  so  I  blush - 
ingly  stammered  out  the  name.  The  clerk  scribbled 
something  on  a  card  and  summoned  a  page.  As  for  me, 
I  kept  on  blushing,  for  when  it  came  to  the  point,  when 
the  vision  that  had  sustained  me  for  the  last  two  weeks 

179 


•A  WOMAN  ALONE 

was  really  to  materialize,  I  found  myself  decidedly  em- 
barrassed. 

My  only  experience  in  seeking  employment  in  New 
York  had  been  with  Mrs.  Grey,  to  whom  I  had  been  sent 
by  another  woman,  Mrs.  Yorke.  This  was  very  differ- 
ent. My  years  of  association  with  women  exclusively 
also  tended  to  exaggerate  the  strangeness  of  this  call ;  to 
be  sure,  I  tried  to  fortify  myself  by  the  remembrance 
that  I  was  looking  for  work  and  that  a  working  woman 
must  pocket  her  sensibilities  along  with  foolish  pride; 
but  all  the  same,  I  spent  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  in  one 
of  the  reception-rooms  of  that  huge  New  York  hotel 
which  is  a  sort  of  clearing  house  for  many  varied 
interests. 

Soon  it  was  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  no 
one  from  the  throngs  of  people,  who  were  passing  and 
repassing  the  comer  where  I  sat,  had  stopped  to  speak  to 
me ;  now  and  then  a  name  was  paged,  but  it  was  never 
the  name  that  I  listened  for.  I  straightened  my  hat, 
fidgeted  with  my  veil,  and  wished  that  I  were  anywhere 
else  on  earth.  Enviously  I  eyed  the  crowds,  particularly 
those  young  women  who,  I  felt  sure,  had  not  come  to  see 
a  man ;  and  I  started  nervously  when  any  one  approached. 

By  and  by  a  page  appeared.  ' '  Eleventh  floor.  Mr. 
Vilmerding  will  meet  you  at  the  elevator, ' '  said  he. 

As  I  emerged  from  the  elevator  at  the  eleventh  floor, 
I  saw  no  one  but  the  chambermaid,  who  hurried  down 
the  corridor.  After  waiting  a  moment  or  two,  I  heard 
voices  in  a  reception-room  nearby  and  timidly  went  in, 
glancing  to  see  if  either  of  the  two  men  who  were  there 
was  expecting  me.  Evidently  not.  They  were  deep  in 
conversation  over  architects'  designs. 

"Well,  I'm  on  the  eleventh  floor,  anyway,"  I  thought, 
as  I  settled  down  on  a  divan  and  looked  around  the 
room. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight  save  the  two  who  were 
comparing  notes  and  quoting  architect.     Presently  they 

180 


ASKING  MR.   VILMERDING  FOR  WORK 

left  and,  in  lieu  of  better  occupation,  I  fell  to  studying 
the  pattern  of  the  carpet. 

The  pattern  was  intricate  and  I  grew  so  absorbed  in 
trying  to  find  out  where  one  figure  ended  and  the  next 
began,  that  I  never  heard  him  come  into  the  room.  The 
first  I  knew  was  that  a  laughing,  genial  voice  was  saying : 

"This  is  Miss  Baldwin,  I  know,"  and  I  looked  up  to 
meet  the  quizzical  eyes  of  Mr.  Vilmerding. 

In  manner,  in  appearance,  Mr.  Vilmerding  was  every- 
thing I  liked ;  he  radiated  success  and  vigorous  masculin- 
ity. In  stature  he  was  of  more  than  medium  height, 
with  a  fine  ruddy  complexion,  and  his  clothes  looked  as 
if  they  were  made  by  a  tailor  who  knew  how.  'In  repose, 
the  shaven  lips  were  pressed  together,  molding  the  face 
into  lines  of  will,  the  look  of  mastery.  But  he  was 
smiling  now  and  I  observed  that  this  man — he  was  a  lit- 
tle over  forty  and  already  had  an  international  reputation 
— seemed  as  care  free  as  a  child. 

When  I  told  him  of  my  difficulty  in  finding  him,  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  for  all  the  world  like  a 
big  boy. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it's  too  bad.  Next  time  I'll  call 
on  you. ' ' 

"Yes.     I — I — never  went  to  see  a  man  before. " 

And  then  as  I  suddenly  remembered  that  my  only  rea- 
son for  coming  to  see  him  was  to  ask  for  work,  all  my 
embarrassment  returned.  We  had  been  chatting  of  Dr. 
Post,  and  Mr.  Vilmerding  told  me  of  their  school  days 
together  and  talked  entertainingly  of  many  things. 

Everything  he  said  interested  me,  but  a  social  chat 
was  not  the  reason  of  my  being  there.  By  and  by  when 
I  could  get  an  opening,  very  brisk  and  businesslike  I 
said: 

* '  It  was  in  reference  to  a  position  in  your  New  York 
office,  Mr.  Vilmerding,  that  I  wrote  you.  Dr.  Post  was 
good  enough  to  think  there  might  be  some  place  for  me 
there." 

181 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

At  this  his  manner  changed.  He  had  been  so  cordial 
in  our  talk  before,  as  to  raise  my  hopes  concerning  the 
outcome  of  the  interview.  But  now  he  sat  silent,  watch- 
ing me;  and  I  was  conscious  of  some  clash — something 
almost  like  hostility,  which  it  seemed  to  me  I  must  over- 
come. * '  Probably  he  thinks  women  silly  and  inefficient 
in  business,"  flashed  across  my  mind.  And  with  re- 
doubled earnestness  I  endeavored  to  convince  him  of  my 
qualifications  for  a  position  of  responsibility.  But  I 
made  little  headway.  He  appeared  to  listen  to  what  I 
said,  though  I  felt  his  mind  was  elsewhere.  There  was 
something,  too,  in  his  gaze  that  disconcerted  me.  In- 
stead of  lessening  as  time  went  on,  my  embarrassment, 
as  I  attempted  to  talk  business  with  Mr.  Vilmerding, 
increased.  And  there  were  many  interruptions  on  his 
part;  indeed,  he  switched  the  conversation  away  from 
business  every  chance  he  had.  What  did  I  think  of  So- 
and-So  in  his  new  role?  Had  I  seen  such  and  such  a 
play?    Was  I  fond  of  bridge? 

I  had  not  come  to  this  hotel  to-day  to  talk  about  the 
theater  or  cards.  I  had  come  here  in  the  hope  of  finding 
work.  But  it  so  happened  that  I  was  fond  of  the  theater ; 
and  as  Mr.  Vilmerding  evidently  wished  to  talk  of  it,  it 
seemed  to  me  the  part  of  wisdom  for  the  time  being  to 
respect  his  preference.  Perhaps  he  would  then  show 
more  interest  in  what  I  had  at  heart. 

Accordingly  I  answered  his  questions  with  all  the  nat- 
ural enthusiasm  which  I  should  have  shown  in  conversa- 
tion on  such  subjects  with  any  one;  and  with  an  [addef* 
zest  which  I  now  know  was  due  to  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Vilmerding  himself.     For  I  liked  him  very  much. 

"Why  isn't  he  like  that  when  I  try  to  talk  business?" 
I  mused,  encouraged  by  his  smile  at  my  comments  on 
the  theater.  And  I  tried  again.  But  Mr.  Vilmerding 
only  relapsed  into  silence,  eying  me  steadily  ^the  while, 
as,  in  my  eagerness,  flushed  and  tremulous,  I  pleaded  my 
own  cause. 

182 


ASKING  MR.   VILMERDING  FOR  WORK 

Finally  he  said:  "I  don't  know  whether  to  make  a 
place  for  you  in  the  business  or  adopt  you. '  * 

"Oh,  you  can't  adopt  me,"  I  replied;  and  we  both 
laughed.  I,  because  it  seemed  courteous — and  politic, 
perhaps — to  recognize  his  joke.  But  all  the  same  I  was 
determined  not  to  be  side-tracked.  This  was  not  an 
afternoon  tea:  it  was  an  effort  on  my  part  to  get  a  job. 
And  so,  after  a  pause,  I  said:  "Then  you  can  make  a 
place  for  me?" 

"Yes,  I  caw, "  he  repeated,  thoughtfully,  "but  I  don't 
want  to.  I  don't  want  you  in  my  office.  I  think  you'd 
be  a  bully  playmate.  And  from  now  on  I  shall  be  in 
New  York  every  month  or  six  weeks  at  the  outside. ' ' 

I  rose.  "Before  you  come  again,  won't  you  please 
make  up  your  mind  to  find  some  place  for  me  in  your 
company?  To  tell  the"]  truth,  Mr.  Vilmerding, "  I  con- 
fessed, candidly,  "I'm  badly  rattled.  I  never  applied  to 
a  man  for  work  before.  But  you  can  find  out  all  about 
me  from' '  (I  mentioned  the  name  of  the  organization 
with  which  I  was  connected) .  "Good-by. "  Here  I  put 
out  my  hand,  and  he  held  it  while  I  said:  "Won't  you 
please  think  hard  ?' ' 

"Bless  you,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Vilmerding.  "But  I 
don't  see  why  you  run  away  so  soon. " 

"Oh,  I'm  a  businesswoman,"  I  replied,  glad  of  an 
opportunity  to  emphasize  the  fact,  "and  I  have  lots  of 
work  yet  to  do  to-day.     Good-by." 

He  accompanied  me  to  the  elevator  and  was  so  alto- 
gether charming  that  I  was  convinced — not  only  by  his 
manner,  but  by  the  statement  that  he  could  make  a  place 
for  me — that  a  change  for  the  better  in  my  affairs  was 
imminent. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 
AN  UNEXPECTED  TRIP 

IN  a  tumult  of  emotion  I  went  home,  making  my  way 
through  the  familiar  streets  as  if  it  were  a  new 
experience.  Everything  looked  different.  At  all 
times,  to  be  sure,  the  excitement  of  human  contact 
stimulated  me ;  if  I  simply  walked  up  Fifth  Avenue  alone 
with  no  one  to  speak  to  and  no  face  I  knew  in  sight, 
there  was  exhilaration  in  the  exercise.  But  to-day  I 
walked  on  air. 

After  that  I  waited,  going  on  with  my  daily  work  as 
usual,  save  for  the  undercurrent  of  excitement  that  ran 
through  it  all.  I  felt  that  I  was  on  the  verge  of  making 
an  important  change,  and  I  wanted  to  leave  things  in 
good  order  where  I  was,  with  no  loose  ends  for  my  suc- 
cessor to  pick  up ;  and  so  I  labored  with  more  than  cus- 
tomary energy. 

But  by  and  by,  when  every  last  thing  had  been  done, 
the  waiting  grew  a  little  tedious.  The  interview  with 
Mr.  Vilmerding  came  to  seem  more  and  more  a  fleeting 
vision,  less  and  less  an  incident  destined  to  have  great 
results.  And  when  Thanksgiving  Day  had  come  and 
gone  with  no  further  word  from  Mr,  Vilmerding,  I  began 
to  have  some  fears ;  if  I  were  going  into  a  new  office  at 
New  Year's,  I  wanted  to  know  something  definite  about 
it  now.  The  time  was  short  enough  at  best,  and  I  owed 
it  to  the  officers  of  the  society  to  notify  them  of  my  plan 
to  leave.  While  I  was  not  so  foolish  as  to  fancy  I  could 
not  be  replaced,  I  knew  it  was  not  always  easy  to  find  at 

184 


AN  UNEXPECTED  TRIP 

once  the  right  person  for  a  position  of  responsibility; 
and  so  for  many  reasons  I  chafed  at  the  delay. 

Several  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  the 
president  of  the  society,  whom  I  saw  at  frequent  inter- 
vals ;  especially  on  one  occasion  when  she  went  out  of  her 
way  to  praise  me  for  a  matter  involving  some  diplomacy 
which  she  thought  I  had  brought  to  a  successful  end.  It 
didn't  seem  quite  honorable  to  accept — with  its  implica- 
tion for  the  future — her  assurance  of  the  society's  appre- 
ciation of  my  usefulness  without  telling  her  that  my 
resignation  might  be  looked  for  any  day.  But  the  sense 
of  fitness  held  me  back.  Not  till  Mr.  Vilmerding  spoke 
the  word,  not  till  he  told  me  what  place  he  had  decided 
to  make  for  me  in  the  company,  not  till  there  was  some 
definite  business  arrangement,  could  I  speak  to  any  one. 

And  then  out  of  a  clear  sky  came  an  unexpected 
shaft.  I  have  said  that,  so  far  as  possible,  I  held  aloof 
from  all  bodies  of  women  agitating  for  the  suffrage. 
But  Mrs.  Grey,  an  ardent  suffragist,  had  been  prominent 
in  many  clubs;  the  avowed  object  of  some  of  them  was 
to  secure  the  franchise,  though  there  were  many  differ- 
ences of  opinion  among  the  clubs  as  to  the  best  means  to 
that  end ;  other  societies,  in  which  she  maintained  mem- 
bership, were  literary,  educational,  or  purely  philan- 
thropical.  With  the  aims  of  all  of  them,  Mrs.  Grey 
sympathized.  Everywhere  she  was  held  in  high  esteem 
and  the  influence  of  her  presence  at  conventions  was  con- 
sidered of  great  weight. 

It  so  happened  that,  in  June  of  the  year  she  died,  she 
had  promised  to  read  a  paper  before  a  meeting  that  was 
scheduled  for  December  of  the  following  year.  I  remem- 
bered hearing  her  speak  of  it  at  the  time.  But  in  the 
shock  of  her  sudden  death  and  the  confusion  of  subse- 
quent events,  the  matter  passed  entirely  from  my  mind ; 
even  when  she  mentioned  the  engagement,  I  do  not  think 
I  asked  where  the  convention  was  to  be.  Mrs.  Grey 
traveled  a  great  deal,  and  I  was  always  much  more  inter- 
13  785 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

ested  in  the  gown  she  was  to  wear  than  in  her  manu- 
script ;  and  on  this  occasion  I  had  little  curiosity  con- 
cerning a  convention  that  was  slated  for  so  far  ahead. 

Indeed,  I  never  thought  of  it  again  till,  early  in 
December  of  the  present  year,  I  received  from  the  pro- 
gramme committee  a  very  polite  communication  request- 
ing me  to  attend  the  convention  and  tell  them  of  ' '  our 
beloved  Mrs.  Grey."  Of  her  work,  they  said,  they 
knew :  it  would  always  be  honored  by  those  striving  for 
the  welfare  of  the  sex.  What  they  wanted  now  from 
me,  who  had  been  close  to  her,  was  some  appreciation 
more  personal. 

This  request  it  was  impossible  to  refuse.  All  my 
loyalty  to  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Grey  forbade  it ;  further- 
more, the  president  of  the  society,  with  whom  the  com- 
mittee had  communicated,  sent  me  a  special  delivery 
letter,  saying  she  felt  sure  I  looked  upon  the  matter  as 
she  did — in  the  light  of  a  duty  as  well  as  a  privilege. 

All  this  moved  me  very  much :  but  I  have  not  yet 
revealed  what  moved  me  most  of  all.  The  convention 
city  was  the  home  of  Mr.  Vilmerding. 

At  this  juncture,  I  tried — oh,  so  hard — to  banish  all 
thought  of  him.  I  wanted  to  think  only  of  my  friend, 
the  woman  who  was  gone ;  to  live  in  the  spirit  of  that 
noble  nature  that  I  might  present  her  as  she  was.  But 
throughout  preparation  of  the  paper  which  I  was  to  read, 
for  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak  ex  tempore,  ran  the 
consciousness  that  I  was  going  to  the  city  where  he 
lived. 

I  reminded  myself  that  he  wouldn't  know  that  I  was 
there;  his  field  was  far  removed  from  the  activities  of 
women's  clubs.  But  at  any  rate,  I  should  see  places  that 
were  well  known  to  him,  should  probably  meet  people 
he  knew  well.  There  was  even  the  possibility  of  my 
meeting  himself  by  accident.  In  that  case,  what  was  I 
to  do? 

And  then  I  walked  over  to  the  photograph  of  Mrs. 
186 


AN  UNEXPECTED  TRIP 

Grey  that  stood  upon  my  desk.  Looking  straight  into 
her  eyes,  as  I  had  been  wont  to  do  in  life,  I  said,  with  all 
the  gravity  of  a  promise  made  unto  the  dead :  ' '  Dear,  I 
will  not  be  so  weak  as  to  think  of  him  till  the  convention 
is  over  with.     I  am  going  there  for  you. ' ' 

Someway  it  seemed  easier  after  that.  I  was  surprised 
at  my  own  calmness  as  I  traveled  West;  surprised  and 
not  a  little  pleased  with  my  reception  at  the  journey's 
end.  It  was  far  West  and  everything  was  new  to  me. 
The  convention  lasted  two  days ;  whether,  in  my  little 
talk  in  the  afternoon  session  of  the  closing  day,  I  ac- 
quitted myself  better  or  worse  because  consciousness  of 
the  nearness  of  Mr.  Vilmerding  mingled  with  my  rever- 
ent memory  of  Mrs.  Grey,  I  have  no  way  of  knowing. 
But  every  one  was  very  kind. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 
MR.   VILMERDING  MISUNDERSTANDS 

WHEN  the  convention  adjourned,  two  of  the  Eastern 
delegates  whom  I  had  seen  at  the  hotel  asked  me 
when  I  was  returning  to  New  York,  with  the 
idea,  I  inferred,  of  fitting  their  plans  to  mine  that  we 
might  travel  in  company.  At  first  I  pretended  not  to 
hear.  But  they  were  persistent,  and  I  finally  made  some 
indefinite  reply  to  the  effect  that  I  did  not  know.  I  had 
never  been  so  far  West  before,  I  said,  and  now  that  I  was 
here  I  wanted  to  see  something  of  the  place  before  I  left. 

This  was  very  true,  but  it  was  also  true  that  the  pres- 
ence of  those  two  women — they  chanced  to  be  the  domi- 
nant, aggressive  type — irritated  me.  Only  against  my 
will  would  I  have  traveled  with  them  anjrwhere.  But 
here  and  now  I  wanted  most  of  all  to  be  alone  and  think. 
However,  there  was  some  additional  delay,  owing  to  the 
kind  wish  of  several  ladies  to  show  me  various  courtesies 
as  the  friend  of  Mrs.  Grey.  Not  till  the  last  good-by  was 
said  and  the  delegates  were  safely  out  of  town,  could  I 
revel  in  the  luxury  of  letting  myself  remember  where  I 
was. 

From  the  window  of  my  room  in  the  hotel,  I  looked 
out  at  roofs  and  chimneys  and  long  blocks  of  office  build- 
ings, and  wondered  which  one  of  them  was  his.  He 
might  be  distant  several  miles — it  was  a  large  city — or 
he  might  be  only  a  few  blocks  away.  Then,  as  I  glanced 
around  the  room,  my  eye  fell  on  the  directory  hanging 
on  a  hook  underneath  the  telephone.  It  took  only  a  mo- 
ment's search  to  find  the  address  of  the  Vilmerding-Eems 

188 


MR.   VILMERDING  MISUNDERSTANDS 

Company ;  then  I  looked  up  the  residence  of  Mr.  Vilmer- 
ding.  But  names  of  streets  meant  nothing  to  me,  and 
this  brought  him  no  nearer  than  before. 

As  my  gaze  still  lingered  at  his  page  in  the  telephone 
directory,  the  thought  occurred  to  me  to  call  him  up. 
His  telephone  number  danced  before  me  on  the  page  as 
if  daring  to  make  use  of  it.  .  .  .  I  passed  my  hand  over 
my  eyes  in  a  bewildered  way:  then  I  rose  slowly — ^but 
sat  down  again  slowly,  too.  Something — something 
derived  from  a  stem  New  England  ancestor — seemed  tug- 
ging to  hold  me  back. 

"No,"  I  said  at  last.  "I've  done  all  that  I  can  do. 
Anjrthing  more  depends  on  him. ' ' 

I  walked  back  to  the  window  and  stood  there  looking 
out ;  then,  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  ring  at  my  tele- 
phone. I  sprang  to  answer  it,  feeling  sure  that  it  was 
Mr.  Vilmerding.  I  had  been  thinking  so  earnestly  of 
him,  that  in  some  mysterious  way  he  knew  of  my  pres- 
ence in  the  city ;  perhaps  he  had  seen  my  name  on  the 
hotel  register.  But  there  was  no  time  to  hunt  for  ex- 
planations now. 

Hurriedly  I  took  down  the  receiver.     "Yes?"  I  cried. 

There  was  no  response. 

' '  Hello, ' '  I  said ;  and  heard  my  voice  tremble  on  the 
word. 

Still  there  was  no  response. 

I  stood  on  tiptoe,  for  the  telephone  was  a  little  too 
high  up  for  me,  and  jingled  the  receiver  hook  up  and 
down  to  call  the  attention  of  the  operator. 

"Oh,  'scuse  me,"  she  vouchsafed  at  last.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  ring  your  bell. ' '  Then  I  realized  my  own 
absurdity  and  hung  up  the  receiver  in  disgust. 

The  temptation  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Vilmerding 
again  swept  over  me ;  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  resist  it  if 
I  remained  in  the  city  long,  I  began  with  feverish  haste 
to  look  up  New  York  trains.  Then  I  bought  my  ticket, 
paid  my  hotel  bill,  and  at  the  railway  station  checked  my 

189 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

hand  luggage  that  I  might  be  free  until  train  time; 
when  all  this  was  done  I  still  had  several  hours  on  my 
hands. 

First  I  thought  that  I  would  take  a  street-car  that 
passed  the  home  of  Mr.  Vilmerding,  so  that  I  could  see 
with  my  own  eyes  just  where  he  lived;  through  Dr.  Post 
I  knew  he  was  a  widower  with  a  small  daughter  and  two 
sons.  But  inquiry  soon  brought  out  the  fact  that  there 
was  no  street-car  line  on  that  residential  avenue;  and 
without  knowing  whither  I  was  bound,  I  boarded  the 
first  car  that  came  along,  with  the  intention  of  going  to 
the  end  of  the  route  and  then  coming  back  to  this  start- 
ing point. 

The  car  ran  out  into  the  country  a  long  way  and  after 
a  few  miles  I  admitted  to  myself  that  it  was  tedious,  and 
the  day  was  bitterly  cold.  But  when  we  returned  to  town, 
my  interest  revived ;  I  scanned  the  name  of  every  street 
in  the  business  section  we  traversed,  hoping  that  some 
time  we  should  turn  into  the  street  which  was  impressed 
upon  my  mind  as  the  home  of  the  Vilmerding-Eems  Com- 
pany. 

But  the  hope  was  vain.  The  car  was  not  well  heated, 
and  I  was  hungry,  too.  Accordingly  when  I  perceived 
that  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  the  hotel  where  I  had 
spent  the  last  two  days,  I  decided  to  stop  in  there  and 
get  something  to  eat.  As  we  reached  the  hotel  I  sig- 
naled the  conductor,  then  left  the  car  and  entered  the 
hotel  restaurant.  I  was  restless  and  wished  it  were  train 
time.     But  it  was  only  three  o'clock. 

After  luncheon,  I  felt  better  and  made  up  my  mind  to 
walk  to  the  railway  station — the  first  time  I  had  ridden 
there — and  kill  time  as  best  I  could  by  watching  the 
people  in  the  waiting-room.  I  set  out  presently,  intend- 
ing to  follow  the  street-car  tracks.  But  there  were  many 
tracks  and  I  became  confused;  I  haven't  much  sense  of 
locality,  anyway,  and  in  a  strange  city  always  lose  my 
way. 

190 


MR.   VILMERDING  MISUNDERSTANDS 

Soon  I  found  myself  on  a  street  I  had  never  seen  be- 
fore and,  as  I  looked  up  at  a  street  comer  to  find  out  the 
name,  my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  large,  fine  build- 
ing just  across  the  way.  There  was  one  huge  sign  in 
front,  gilt  lettering  on  a  black  background,  "The  Vil- 
merding-Eems  Company, ' '  it  said. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  and  stared  at  it ;  then  quickly 
crossed  the  street,  my  head  held  high.  I  had  made  up 
my  mind. 

On  the  ground  floor  of  the  building,  a  salesman 
directed  me  to  the  elevator.  "Mr.  Vilmerding  is  on  the 
second  floor, ' '  he  said. 

The  elevator  was  very  slow ;  so  was  the  boy — he  was 
red-headed  and  they  called  him  "Harold" — who  took  my 
card  in  to  the  private  office.  But  finally  he  drifted  out 
again  and  casually  remarked,  "Mr.  Vilmerding  '11  see 
you  pretty  soon. ' ' 

At  length  a  blonde  young  woman  with  a  pompadour 
appeared.  "Will  you  kindly  step  this  way?"  said  she, 
and  ushered  me  down  a  long  passage  to  an  enclosure  that 
was  shut  off  from  the  rest  by  stained  partitions  and  by 
windows  of  ground-glass.  An  instant  later  the  door 
opened  noiselessly.  Miss  Blonde  Pompadour  disappeared, 
and  I  stood  there  alone. 

Already  he  was  coming  forward,  both  hands  out- 
stretched in  greeting,  "Hello,  hello,"  he  said,  taking 
my  right  hand  in  both  of  his. 

A  sudden,  happy  sense  that  all  was  well  now  stole 
over  me ;  my  seriousness  vanished  instantly  and,  knowing 
he  was  glad  to  see  me,  I  felt  perfectly  at  home.  But  I 
said  nothing  at  the  start.  I  simply  withdrew  the  hand 
which  he  had  still  retained,  folded  my  arms,  and  smiled 
at  him. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  out  here?"  he  laugh- 
ingly demanded,  as  he  brought  a  chair  for  me. 

"Oh,"  said  I,  a  little  airily  no  doubt,  as  I  seated  my- 
self and  smoothed  out  a  wrinkle  in  my  sleeve,  "I  thought 

191 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

I'd  better  find  out  how  that  thinking  operation  was  get- 
ting on. ' ' 

At  this  a  more  serious  expression  crossed  his  face. 
"Why,  I  told  you  I'd  think  hard." 

"So  you  did.  But  I've  heard  nothing  definite  since 
then,  and  it's  getting  pretty  near  New  Year's." 

Just  then  a  young  woman  entered,  laid  a  pile  of  cor- 
respondence on  the  desk  and  went  out  again.  Meantime 
I  was  examining  the  room.  "What  a  stunning  office!" 
I  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Vilmerding  bowed.  "Glad  it  meets  the  approval 
of  New  York." 

"But  after  all,"  I  reminded  him,  "it's  your  New 
York  office  I'm  most  interested  in. " 

He  walked  over  to  his  desk  and  then  faced  round  to 
me.  "Come  over  here  and  talk  to  me  while  I  sign  my 
mail, ' '  he  said,  drawing  up  a  chair  for  me  alongside  his 
desk. 

I  complied,  eying  with  amazement  the  mass  of 
correspondence  awaiting  his  signature.  "Gracious,  do 
you  write  that  many  letters  every  day?" 

He  picked  up  a  pen  and  critically  surveyed  the  point. 
' '  This  is  a  very  small  bunch, ' '  he  said,  as  he  began  with 
the  first  letter  on  the  pile.  "Go  right  on  talking.  lean 
listen  just  as  well.  I've  written  my  name  so  many  times 
I  can  do  it  with  my  eyes  shut  now. ' ' 

"Let's  see  you,"  I  dared  him.  "I'm  sure  you'll 
write  uphill. ' ' 

He  squared  himself  in  his  chair.  "You  don't  expect 
me  to  shut  my  eyes  when  you're  here,  do  you?" 

"Why  not?  Afraid  I'll  make  off  with  the  valuables? 
I  couldn't,  with  Harold  on  the  job.  A  red-headed  boy 
like  that  must  be  a  great  protection  to  a  man  like 
you. ' ' 

He  chuckled,  and  for  a  minute  there  was  no  sound 
save  the  scratching  of  his  pen.  I  was  watching  the 
sheets  of  paper  fly.     As  he  stopped  to  blot  his  signature, 

192 


MR.   VILMERDING  MISUNDERSTANDS 

I  said:  "Think  how  much  time  you'd  save  if  you  had  a 
shorter  name. ' ' 

Ruefully  he  shook  his  head.  "Too  late  to  think  of 
that.  And  being  a  man  there's  no  chance  of  my  ever 
changing  it. " 

"You  poor  fellow,"  said  I. 

"Say,"  said  he,  "did  you  really  come  out  here  to  see 
me?" 

"Of  course  not,"  I  retorted  with  a  blush.  "Do  you 
require  a  diagram  with  every  joke.  However, "  I  con- 
tinued, for  I  felt  a  little  guilty  on  that  score,  "I  was  just 
going  to  explain  awhile  back  when  that  girl  came  in  and 
then — why,  I've  had  to  see  that  you  crossed  your  t's  and 
dotted  all  your  i's.  No, ' '  I  announced  with  an  impressive 
air,  ' '  you  are  incidental.     My  presence  in  your  city, ' '  and 

I  waved  my  hand,  "is  due  to  the  convention  of " 

(here  I  named  the  organization  that  had  invited  me). 

"Holy  smoke,"  said  he.  "Do  you  travel  with  that 
bunch?" 

"Not  much, "  said  I,  remembering  the  overtures  I  had 
ignored.  '  *  Two  of  the  delegates  wanted  me  to  go  back 
home  with  them,  but  I  declined.  They  went  this  morn- 
ing and  I  start  to-night. ' '  Then  I  explained  what  it  was 
that  called  me  there. 

"And  I've  told  myself  a  dozen  times  to-day  that  I 
wouldn't  step  inside  your  place,"  I  confessed  to  him. 
"And  then  having  vowed  I  wouldn't,  why,  of  course,"  a 
little  apologetically,  "here  I  am.  But  it's  an  exception 
to  the  rule." 

"And  your  getting  in  is  an  exception,  too,"  was  the 
reply.     "To  my  rule. ' ' 

I  laughed.  "All  on  account  of  poor  old  Eve,  I  sup- 
pose ?  Well,  since  I  did  get  in  and  am  likely  to  be  driven 
out  of  here  any  minute  by  Harold  of  the  flaming 
sword " 

But  he  interrupted  me.  ' '  I  said  you  were  an  excep- 
tion.    You  know  I  like  to  have  you  here." 

193 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"As  a  caller,  yes.  But  I  want  a  position  in  the  New 
York  office." 

At  this  he  laid  down  his  pen.  "That  would  never 
do,"  he  said.  "I've  been  thinking  about  it  and  about 
you  since  I  saw  you  in  New  York.  The  manager  of  our 
office  there  is  to  be  a  man  who  has  grown  up  in  the  busi- 
ness. He  knows  all  about  it.  But  even  if  you  knew  ten 
times  as  much — I  don't  want  you  there. " 

"Well,  then,  why  not  here?"  I  pleaded.  "I'm  not 
particular  about  locality,  so  long  as  I  can  change  my 
work.     And  you  said  you  could  make  a  place  for  me. ' ' 

"But  you  know  what  else  I  told  you,  too. " 

Wide-eyed  I  looked  at  him.  "No,  I  don't.  Not  any- 
thing important. ' ' 

"About  the  playmate, "  he  reminded  me. 

"Oh,  that,"  I  cried.  "I  never  gave  it  a  second 
thought.     That  was  only  a  pleasantry. " 

My  hands  were  toying  nervously  with  the  pen  he  had 
laid  down;  suddenly  I  felt  his  fingers  tighten  around 
mine.  "No,  it  wasn't,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

But  instantly  the  door  opened  and  the  same  yoimg 
woman  who  had  entered  once  before  reappeared  with 
another  batch  of  mail,  and  then  went  out  again. 

"H'm!  That  poor  girl  was  awfully  embarrassed," 
commented  Mr.  Vilmerding,  as  she  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  "No  wonder!  We  both  jumped.  Now  that's  one 
reason  I  don't  want  you  here.  I  can't  afford  anything  of 
that  sort  in  my  office.  I  think  more  of  my  business  than 
I  would  of  any  woman  in  the  world.  If  you  were  here, 
all  I  could  do  would  be  to  install  you  in  a  flat  and  go  to 
see  you  when  I  could. ' ' 

The  unexpectedness  of  these  words  and  the  sudden 
comprehension  of  what  they  implied  gave  me  the  sense 
of  dizziness  that  follows  on  a  physical  blow.  My  lips 
parted  on  a  gasp,  but  I  could  not  speak.  I  sat  there 
quivering. 

He  turned  to  look  at  me;  the  expression  of  my  averted 
194 


MR.  VILMERDING  MISUNDERSTANDS 

face,  my  whole  attitude,  must  have  struck  him,  for,  put- 
ting out  his  hand,  he  said,  kindly:  "Why,  what  is  it, 
dear?" 

At  the  word,  the  tone,  the  evidence  of  his  genuine 
surprise,  I  only  winced  the  more.  My  very  innocence 
made  me  quick  to  feel  myself  rebuked.  But  he  was  still 
looking  at  me,  and  I  staggered  to  my  feet.  "Oh,  what 
did  I  do — or  say — "  I  moaned,  "to  make  you  think  any- 
thing like  that?"  and  my  voice  trailed  away  into  a 
shamed  silence. 

"Why,"  he  hesitated,  and  the  color  mounted  slowly 
to  his  face,  "I  supposed  we  understood  each  other. 
But,"  pulling  out  his  watch,  "we  can't  talk  here.  That 
door  is  liable  to  open  any  minute.     Now,  you  go  over  to 

the ' '  (mentioning  the  hotel  where  I  had  spent  the 

last  two  days)  "and  I'll  join  you  presently.  You  and  I 
have  got  to  have  a  good  long  talk. ' ' 

"No,"  said  I,  trying  to  steady  my  voice,  "I  have 
only  one  thing  to  say  to  you,  and  I  can  say  it  here 
whether  that  door  opens  or  not.  Someway — I  don't 
know  how — it  seems  I  have  given  you  the  wrong  impres- 
sion.    It  has  taught  me  a  lesson.     Good-by. " 

And  before  he  had  time  to  speak,  I  was  out  of  the 
oflfice  and  with  flaming  cheeks  was  hurrying  down  the 
long  passage  toward  the  elevator;  yet  once  among 
the  employees,  of  whom  there  were  many  on  the  second 
floor,  I  reminded  myself  that  there  must  be  nothing  in 
the  manner  of  my  leaving  to  excite  remark.  I  even 
halted  for  a  moment  to  inspect  some  tapestry. 

Downstairs  my  progress  was  retarded  by  the  crowd. 
The  season  of  Christmas  shopping  was  now  well  advanced, 
and  in  this  late  afternoon  the  store  was  thronged  with 
salespeople  and  purchasers.  The  place  was  gay  with 
decorations  suitable  for  the  holidays ;  the  Christmas  spirit 
filled  the  air — but  in  my  heart  was  shame.  I  couldn't 
drive  away  the  thought  that  I  had  brought  this  on  my- 
self.    For  whatever  had   happened  to  me  of  this  sort 

195 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

before  I  was  not  responsible :  this  I  had  gone  out  of  my 
way  to  find. 

I  went  directly  to  the  railway  station  and  in  the 
bustle  and  confusion  there  sought  to  still  the  inner 
tumult;  but  without  avail.  In  the  babel  of  sounds  I 
heard  distinctly  but  one  voice ;  no  matter  where  I  turned, 
I  was  confronted  by  one  face  that  wore  the  genuine  ex- 
pression of  surprise.  But  did  the  entire  responsibility 
rest  with  me  for  this  man's  mistake?  Just  because  a 
girl,  who  most  of  the  time  had  lived  under  conditions 
that  were  repugnant  to  her,  found  herself  for  once  in  an 
atmosphere  she  liked  and  showed  the  high  spirits  that 
were  natural — did  that  justify  a  man  for  thinking  the 
unthinkable?  Was  innocence  then  in  danger  of  being 
everjrwhere  misinterpreted  ? 

Throughout  the  journey  to  New  York  this  questioning 
kept  up,  but  more  persistent  still  was  the  consciousness 
that  I  was  not  wholly  free  from  blame.  The  realization 
dawned  on  me  that  where  the  affections  were  concerned 
I  could  not  trust  my  judgment.  I  liked  Mr.  Vilmerding 
from  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  him;  and  the  liking  had 
blinded  me  to  the  possible  construction  he  might  place 
on  my  motive  in  applying  to  him  for  work.  That  the 
motive  was  honorable,  I  knew ;  but  it  was  not  when  talk- 
ing business  that  I  felt  most  at  home  with  him:  it  was 
when  we  were  talking  about  ourselves.  Something  had 
told  me  not  to  go  to  his  office.  I  went  in  defiance  of  the 
warning:  I  deserved  my  punishment. 

This  was  the  conclusion  that  I  reached  at  the  jour- 
ney's end ;  but  with  it  came  resolve  to  put  it  all  behind 
me,  to  forget  forever  what  had  passed  in  Denver,  and  to 
begin  anew  at  my  old  task.  Gratitude  welled  up  in  me 
that  I  had  work  to  do  in  a  field  where  no  one  questioned 
my  honesty,  no  one  insulted  me.  If  there  were  disad- 
vantages in  working  entirely  among  those  of  my  own 
sex,  there  were  mitigations,  too. 


196 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
THE  ULTIMATUM 

THE  morning  after  my  return,  the  president  of  the 
society  came  down  to  the  settlement.  To  my 
surprise  she  kissed  me.  "Now  tell  me  all  about 
it,"  she  enjoined,  as  she  drew  up  a  chair  opposite  my 
own. 

"All — about — it?"  I  faltered,  remembering  Mr.  Vil- 
merding. 

The  president  laughed.  "Oh,  you're  so  modest,  I 
don't  suppose  you  want  to  talk.  I  had  a  note  from  Mrs. 
Haynes"  (a  Philadelphia  delegate),  "and  we're  very 
proud  of  you.  But  I'd  like  your  own  idea  of  the  con- 
vention. ' ' 

"Oh,"  said  I.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  convention 
had  been  years  and  years  before. 

However,  in  the  next  few  days  I  regained  the  sense  of 
values  and  adjusted  myself  to  the  treadmill  of  routine.  I 
was  thinking  how  to  make  the  best  of  things;  soon  I 
evolved  a  plan  which,  I  thought,  promised  increased 
efficiency  for  me  and  as  well  some  relief  from  present 
monotony,  if  I  could  only  persuade  the  officers  of  the 
society  to  agree  to  it.  I  knew  myself  well  enough  by 
this  time  to  understand  that  there  must  be  some  change 
if  I  was  to  continue  indefinitely  to  do  good  work.  Ac- 
cordingly I  decided  to  stake  all  on  one  throw. 

One  afternoon  when  the  president  was  at  the  house 
helping  me  trim  a  Christmas  tree  for  a  club  of  working 
girls,  I  asked  her  if  she  would  appoint  some  time  soon, 
for  an  interview  when  I  could  set  before  her  my  decision 

197 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

concerning  future  work?  Her  alarmed  look,  as  she 
acquiesced,  was  not  lost  on  me. 

The  time  she  named  was  that  very  evening,  and  I  went 
to  her  well  prepared.  I  had  thought  long  and  earnestly, 
I  said,  and  was  convinced  that  I  could  not  continue  to 
get  best  results  from  the  machine  which  was  myself  with- 
out some  variation  from  the  arrangement  made  over  a 
year  ago;  then  the  society  insisted  on  my  living  in  the 
house.  But  now,  after  being  constantly  on  call,  with  no 
relaxation  from  the  strain  of  heavy  responsibilities,  with 
no  opportunity  for  contact  with  the  outside  world,  with 
nothing  to  offset  the  sombemess,  I  had  decided  that  some 
change  was  imperative.  Either  the  officers  of  the  society 
must  relieve  me  of  the  burden  of  residence  or  I  must 
resign. 

All  this  I  said  very  slowly,  very  calmly  to  the  presi- 
dent. It  was  true — and  I  meant  every  word  of  it.  But 
I  shivered  inwardly.  I  had  absolutely  nothing  else  in 
view  and,  if  the  society  rejected  the  condition  I  imposed, 
I  knew  not  where  to  look  for  a  position ;  the  memory  of 
my  recent  experience  with  Mr.  Vilmerding  seared  me 
like  a  flame.  But  I  could  not  afford  to  let  my  fears  be 
seen.  The  president's  own  expression  of  alarm,  when  I 
asked  her  for  the  interview,  encouraged  me  somewhat : 
and  so  I  went  on  speaking  with  what  confidence  I  could. 

When  I  finished  she  stretched  out  both  hands  and,  to 
my  profound  relief,  exclaimed:  "One  thing  is  certain. 
Miss  Baldwin.  We  can't  let  you  go.  Some  arrange- 
•ment  must  be  made. ' ' 

And  an  arrangement  was  made  within  the  next  few 
weeks  whereby  I  was  to  have  in  future  regular  office 
hours  at  the  settlement.  From  nine  o'clock  till  five  for 
six  days  of  the  week  I  was  to  be  on  duty  as  before.  But 
another  woman  was  engaged  for  resident  work  the  re- 
mainder of  the  time ;  and  I  was  free  to  live  anywhere 
I  chose. 

Mrs.  Miggs  had  now  gone  out  of  business,  or  I  should 
198 


THE  ULTIMATUM 

doubtless  have  returned  to  her.     The  house  she  lived  in 
had  been  sold,  and  with  the  one  next  door  was  soon  to  be 
torn  down  to  make  way  for  the  new  home  of  a  club. 
But  New  York  is  full  of  boarding  houses  and  I  soon 

found  one  in  West  Seventy Street  that  bid  fair  to  be 

as  satisfactory  as  such  makeshift  existence  ever  is.  By 
this  time  I  thought  I  was  inured  to  loneliness  and  toil. 
All  I  asked,  so  it  then  seemed  to  me,  was  a  place  that  I 
could  call  my  own,  to  which  I  could  repair  when  the 
day's  work  was  over  with — a  place  to  which  the  atmos- 
phere of  shop  could  not  penetrate. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
MRS.   TATE  CO-OPERATES 

THE  boarding  house  in  West  Seventy  Street 
was  a  long  distance  from  my  work,  but,  after 
residence  in  the  slums,  I  wished  to  be  as  far  away 
as  possible ;  and  the  Elevated  was  convenient.  Respon- 
sibility for  the  welfare  of  young  girls,  the  sorrow  of 
seeing  them  fail  to  get  what  they  wanted — as  I  had 
failed,  myself — had  grown  to  be  so  terrible,  that  now, 
in  the  quick  rebound  of  my  release  from  the  life  of  the 
settlement,  I  was  once  more  like  a  child  let  out  of  school. 
As  I  look  back  on  it  I  wonder  at  my  long-continued 
buoyancy. 

Instead  of  a  hall  bedroom,  I  engaged  this  time  the 
large  back  room  on  the  third  floor  of  the  house ;  the  house 
had  an  extension,  and  the  windows  of  my  room  looked 
out  into  the  back  yards  of  private  residences  on  the  street 
below.  They  were  attractive  yards  even  now  in  winter, 
and  I  anticipated  the  time  in  spring  when  the  owners 
would  begin  to  cultivate  the  little  plots  of  ground;  for 
Mrs.  Tate,  the  landlady,  when  she  rented  the  room  to 
me,  had  enlarged  upon  ' '  the  view, ' '  and  told  me  what  I 
might  later  on  expect  in  the  way  of  "a  restful  bit  of 
green. ' ' 

Then,  too.  Central  Park  was  near  and  I  promised  my- 
self frequent  tramps  in  the  city's  chief  pleasure-ground. 
Even  if  I  must  walk  alone,  what  mattered  it?  The  Park 
was  glorious,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  spoil  the  blessings 
that  I  had  by  fretting  about  those  I  lacked. 

The  room  itself  had  pleasing  possibilities,  and  I  se- 
200 


MRS.   TATE  CO-OPERATES 

cured  it  at  a  low  rate  because  the  season  was  so  far  ad- 
vanced. I  could  not  have  paid  the  customary  price,  but 
now  Mrs.  Tate  preferred  to  "let  it  go  at  a  sacrifice, "  she 
said,  rather  than  have  it  longer  on  her  hands ;  then,  too, 
she  was  doubtless  influenced  by  the  fact  that  I  expected 
to  remain  in  town  all  summer.  And  she  also  told  me — 
this  I  mention  because  it  shows  a  unique  professional 
view-point  I  never  met  elsewhere — that  she  "thought  it 
would  be  an  advantage  to  her  to  have  such  a  highly 
educated  young  lady  in  the  house!" 

At  all  events  the  room  was  mine  for  a  price  that  I 
could  pay  and,  after  having  been  cooped  up  so  long,  first 
in  hall  bedrooms  and  then  downtown  in  small  quarters 
where  I  was  at  everybody's  beck  and  call  any  time  of  day 
or  night,  I  revelled  in  the  space  at  my  disposal  now. 
The  day  I  moved  in  I  was  chuckling  to  myself  as  I  un- 
packed my  trunks,  when  Mrs.  Tate  came  in  to  consult  me 
about  the  placing  of  the  furniture. 

"Oh,  it's  fine,"  I  shouted,  with  a  wide  sweep  of  the 
arms,  *  *  to  have  room  enough  to  swing  a  cat.  Not  that  I 
want  to,"  I  added  hastily.  "I  hate  cats — almost  as  much 
as  mice. ' ' 

"Well,  you  won't  find  neither  of  'em  in  my  house," 
Mrs.  Tate  declared.  "Nor  dogs.  I  ha'in't  no  use  for 
'em.  Now,  Miss  Baldwin,  if  you  want,"  she  volun- 
teered, standing  with  arms  akimbo  by  the  door,  "I'll 
take  out  that  bed  for  you,  though,  if  I  do  say  it  as 
shouldn't,  you  never  slept  on  a  better  pair  of  springs. 
An'  I'll  get  you  in  a  couch,  an'  you  can  put  the  bureau 
over  in  the  alcove  with  a  screen  in  front  an'  then  rig  up 
a  cozy  comer.  I've  got  a  lot  of  stuff  I'll  let  you  hev  for 
a  cozy  comer — heathen  idols  an'  arrows  an'  fans  down 
in  the  cellar  that  some  folks  left  here  once — an'  you  can 
hev  your  room  sort  of  parlorlike,  an'  entertain  your 
friends.  You  see,  I've  ben  a  girl  myself  an'  I  know  a 
public  parlor  discourages  young  men. ' ' 

"Cozy  comer?  Yes, "  I  cried.  " I  want  every  arrow 
14  201 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

in  the  place,  every  gimcrack  that  the  cellar  holds!  I 
haven't  any  friends — men  friends,  at  least — but  I've  lived 
so  long  in  a  soap-box  of  a  room  that  now — !"  Here 
words  failed  me  and  I  gazed  blissfully  around  and  then 
up  at  the  wall.  "Couldn't  kick  that  ceiling,  could  I, 
Mrs.  Tate?    I  had  one  that  I  almost  could." 

Mrs.  Tate  was  big  and  lame  and  motherly,  and  at  first 
sight  I  was  drawn  to  her;  she  in  turn  would  do  anything 
she  could  to  make  me  comfortable.  She  was  a  good 
housekeeper  and  a  stanch  friend ;  the  only  thing  I  had 
against  her  was  that  she  would  persist  in  referring  to  me 
as  "  a  highly  educated  young  lady. ' '  But  I  could  never 
make  her  change  it,  and  to-day,  if  I  should  meet  her,  I 
feel  sure  she  would  ask  me  how  to  pronounce  words  that 
were  strange  to  her  and  would  apologize  for  her  '  *  bad 
grammar,"  just  as  she  did  of  old. 

To  supplement  the  articles  of  furniture  supplied  by 
Mrs.  Tate,  or  to  replace  those  I  did  not  like,  I  bought  a 
table,  a  desk,  and  a  couple  of  easy  chairs.  This  entailed 
prowling  around  in  second-hand  shops  and  attending 
auction  sales  and,  both  money  and  leisure  being  limited 
with  me,  it  took  a  long  time  to  find  just  what  I  desired; 
however,  the  search,  giving  me  a  sense  of  importance  as 
a  domestic  woman  occupied  with  the  affairs  of  her  house- 
hold, filled  pleasurably  many  hours.  At  last  the  task 
was  finished,  and  the  result,  I  acknowledged  to  myself, 
was  satisfactory. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
"the  house  of  god" 

BUT  when  the  excitement  of  furnishing  the  room 
subsided,  when  the  newness  had  worn  off,  my 
buoyancy  began  to  flag.  "What's  the  use?"  I 
asked  myself.  "There's  no  one  to  enjoy  it  with  me.  If 
Alison  were  here,  everything  would  be  different. ' '  Now 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  a  suitable  place  for  her 
— and  she  was  no  nearer  than  before.  To  the  separation 
from  my  sister  I  had  never  been  resigned,  but  still  I  could 
not  feel  that  I  had  any  right  to  reveal  myself  to  her. 
No  matter  how  often  or  in  how  many  different  moods  I 
faced  the  situation,  it  always  looked  the  same.  How 
joyously,  I  thought,  would  I  work  to  keep  a  home  for  her 
if  I  only  might !  How  I  would  shield  her  from  the  world ! 
If  there  were  anybody  that  belonged  to  me,  the  whole 
aspect  of  existence  would  be  changed.  But  just  for  my- 
self alone,  what  mattered  anything? 

I  looked  around  the  pleasant  room  and  smiled  a  little 
bitterly  to  think  I  had  imagined  that  by  altering  the  en- 
vironment, by  increasing  the  surface  apparatus  of  my 
life,  by  getting  together  a  multiplicity  of  things,  I  could 
banish  the  inner  solitude.  The  abundance  I  beheld  now 
represented  deeper  impoverishment.  Instead  of  having 
contentedness  and  gratitude  enough  to  spread  out  over 
this  larger  area,  I  felt  there  was  only  so  much  more  room 
to  be  lonely  in. 

At  different  times  I  invited  parties  of  working  girls 
from  the  settlements  to  spend  an  evening  with  me. 
They  accepted,   I  provided  entertainment  and  refresh- 

203 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

ments,  and  we  all  went  through  the  motions  of  gayety. 
But  they  knew  and  I  knew,  though  we  all  ignored  it,  that 
we  already  had  a  superfluity  of  feminine  society ;  what 
those  girls  needed  was  the  normal  companionship  of 
young  men.  This  need  of  theirs  I  had  no  way  to  remedy. 

So  far  as  I  was  myself  concerned  at  this  period, 
bowed  beneath  the  sense  of  shame  resulting  from  Mr. 
Vilmerding's  misunderstanding  of  me,  it  seemed  that  I 
could  never  look  any  man  in  the  face  again.  The  empti- 
ness of  life  appalled  me :  and  yet  one  must  go  on  living. 
Despair,  which  some  one  has  defined  as  "the  eagerness 
of  unfed  hope, ' '  laid  hold  of  me. 

But  I  did  not  yield.  I  resolved  to  plow  my  way 
somehow  through  the  slough  of  despond.  First  of  all,  I 
tried  going  to  church — and  now  I  must  go  back  a  little 
to  explain  why  I  had  not  tried  this  before. 

In  childhood  I  was  accustomed  to  regular  attendance 
at  the  Congregationalist  church,  and  at  twelve  years  of 
age  I  knew  so  much  of  the  New  Testament  "by  heart" — 
as  the  saying  is,  though  in  my  case  it  was  more  a  matter 
of  the  head — that  Aunt  Jane's  spiritual  adviser  believed 
I  was  "called  to  minister  to  those  who  sit  in  darkness." 
All  through  college,  too,  I  had  been  a  devoted  church-goer, 
and  had  taught  in  Sunday  school.  Though  still  in  my 
teens,  I  had,  as  country  girls  usually  have,  a  definite 
place  in  the  religious  life  of  the  small  community. 

In  New  York  it  was  different.  In  common  with  hosts 
of  strangers,  I  experienced  the  feeling  of  impermanence, 
of  being  an  atom  blown  hither  and  yon  by  shifting  gusts 
over  which  I  had  no  power,  for  which  I  had  no  responsi- 
bility; on  the  other  hand,  I  know  that  many  young  peo- 
ple do  bring  to  the  city  with  them  letters  from  the 
church  officers  at  home,  and  soon  transfer  their  member- 
ship to  some  New  York  society.  It  seems  to  me  this  is  a 
wise  thing  to  do.     But  I  didn't  do  it. 

Of  course,  in  nearly  eight  years  of  residence — up  to 
the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  now — I  did  go  to  church 

204 


**THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD" 

at  intervals ;  but  always  as  a  stranger  and  always  was  I 
chilled  by  the  atmosphere.  This  I  mention  in  no  spirit  of 
complaint ;  if  I  had  sought  out  the  pastor  of  any  of  those 
churches,  or  one  of  his  assistants,  I  should  doubtless  have 
found  cordiality.  But  I  didn't  seek  out  any  one;  I 
didn't  even  go  half  way,  and  no  one  came  to  meet  me. 
In  fact,  I  seldom  went  to  the  same  church  twice.  When 
I  came  to  New  York — at  nineteen,  just  out  of  college — I 
made  up  my  mind  to  hear  in  turn  all  the  famous  New 
York  preachers  that  I  might  compare  them  with  Mr. 
Zeller,  of  Manchester. 

Mr.  Zeller  was  a  keen  thinker,  a  wonderful  preacher, 
and  a  most  unusual  man.  Because  of  his  liberal  religious 
views,  his  pastorate  of  a  conservative  society  in  a  large 
New  England  city  had  come  to  an  end ;  this  was  not  long 
before  I  entered  the  university  and  within  two  years  he 
was  called  as  pastor  to  a  small  society  in  Manchester  that 
was  an  offshoot  of  one  of  the  old  churches  there.  The  more 
conservative  church  members  in  other  denominations  had 
long  regarded  the  religious  views  upheld  by  this  small 
society  as  "decidedly  advanced,"  and  had  sympathized 
with  the  attitude  of  the  mother  church  toward  the  rebel- 
lious children  who  had  left  her  fold.  But  soon  after  Mr. 
Zeller 's  pastorate  began,  there  was  a  decided  change  in 
the  attitude  of  the  community.  The  new  preacher's 
audience  was  the  largest  in  the  town.  Members  of  other 
communions  flocked  to  his  chapel  for  the  evening  service, 
while  a  large  contingent  of  the  college  faculty  and  stu- 
dents— as  well  as  many  of  the  townspeople — heard  him 
gladly  at  all  times.  To  eke  out  the  small  salary  the  so- 
ciety could  afford  to  pay,  the  university  trustees  engaged 
Mr.  Zeller  to  lecture  on  economics.  The  arrangement 
worked  out  well ;  and  for  years  Mr.  Zeller,  refusing  most 
flattering  offers  elsewhere,  remained  in  Manchester,  and 
his  influence  was  potent  on  the  thinking  of  the  college 
town. 

But  in  my  own  case — I  was  very  young  and  imma- 
205 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

ture — this  influence  had  at  first  an  unfortunate  effect, 
simply  because  of  my  inability  to  comprehend  the  spirit 
of  his  teaching.  I  was  critical  of  everything  that  differed 
from  his  theology;  more  than  that,  with  the  passion  of 
personal  loyalty  which  I  then  carried  to  extremes,  I  was 
almost  hostile  to  any  pulpit  presence  but  his  own. 

Later  on,  the  sermons  that  I  occasionally  listened  to 
in  New  York  City  did  not  hold  my  interest;  it  seemed  a 
waste  of  time  and  energy  to  go  to  church  to  hear  some 
man  preach  who  did  not  comrnand  my  intelligence,  when, 
by  staying  at  home,  I  could  read  something  helpful  from 
the  work  of  a  master  mind.  The  frigidity  of  metropol- 
itan churches  repelled  me ;  then,  too,  there  was  a  period 
when  -I  could  not  afford  a  sitting,  nor  could  I  contribute 
much  (if  anything)  to  the  collection. 

All  these  excuses  I  went  over  many  times,  trying  to 
justify  myself  for  departing  from  the  habit  of  my  youth. 
My  church  attendance,  then,  was  spasmodic  till  the  time 
when  I  moved  into  the  institutional  house  downtown; 
there  my  duties — some  of  them  of  a  religious  nature — ran 
through  seven  days  of  the  week  and  precluded  the  possi- 
bility, even  had  I  had  the  wish,  to  attend  any  religious 
service  outside  those  four  walls. 

But  now,  when  I  had  reached  the  age  of  twenty-seven 
years  and  was  searching  as  I  had  never  searched  before 
to  find  something  to  which  I  could  cling,  something  to 
fill  up  the  emptiness  of  life,  I  turned  to  the  church  again. 
I  tried  to  divest  myself  of  the  critical  attitude,  to  think 
not  at  all  of  my  fellow-mortals,  but  to  become  as  a  little 
child  and  trust  implicitly  in  the  Heavenly  Father  who  in 
earlier  days  had  been  so  real  to  me.  If  ever  any  one 
went  to  the  House  of  God  praying  for  help,  it  was  I,  that 
Sunday  morning  that  I  first  carried  out  the  new  resolve. 

It  was  a  stormy  day  and  I  chose  a  church  near  by 
whose  pastor  was  far  famed ;  I  had  not  informed  myself, 
as  I  might  have  done  through  the  newspapers,  of  the  sub- 
ject of  that  day's  discourse.     In  fact,  I  had  never  heard 

206 


**THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD" 

the  pastor  preach,  but  I  knew  that  he  was  called  an  ora- 
tor. I  went  early  to  the  church  and  the  usher  showed 
me  to  a  good  seat  up  in  front;  the  organ  was  playing 
softly,  and  the  light,  diffused  through  stained-glass  win- 
dows, was  chastened  and  subdued ;  tablets  on  the  wall 
commemorated  noble  lives  now  ended ;  there  was  a  hush 
in  the  air,  a  solemnity  that  fell  upon  my  troubled  spirit 
like  a  benison.  "Why  have  I  cut  myself  off  from  all  this 
before?"  I  asked. 

All  through  the  preliminary  portion  of  the  service  I 
felt  stronger,  uplifted ;  then  the  pastor  rose  to  announce 
his  text.  "The  Modem  Woman,"  he  thundered  through 
the  auditorium.  "I  shall  speak  of  her  to-day,"  And 
how  he  spoke !     I  can  hear  him  yet ! 

He  told  us  that  smoking,  drinking,  gambling,  lying, 
and  the  practice  of  dishonesty — not  to  mention  the  other 
practices  he  included  in  the  list — were  the  favorite  pas- 
times of  the  women  of  New  York.  "What  is  the  home 
coming  to?"  he  cried.  "The  bulwark  of  the  nation  is 
the  family.  Where  will  this  nation  be  in  a  few  years 
from  now,  if  family  life  continues  as  it  is  to-day  ?  You 
— you  women,"  and  he  pointed  the  finger  of  scorn, 
"determine  what  family  life  shall  be.  What  have  you 
made  of  it?  What  are  you  making  of  it  now?"  One 
and  all  he  berated  us :  esteeming  babies  of  less  account 
than  dogs,  we  were  either  childless,  he  proclaimed,  or 
we  ignored  the  children  we  had  brought  into  the  world. 
"Maternal  love  is  out  of  date,"  he  cried,  and  pounded 
the  reading  desk  in  front  of  him. 

It  was  a  long  sermon,  but  the  gist  of  it  was  that  the 
women  of  to-day  were  a  disgrace  to  the  name  of  woman- 
hood. At  our  door  he  laid  the  entire  weight  of  responsi- 
bility for  the  conditions  of  modem  life.  "Man  is  what 
you  make  him, ' '  he  declared. 

Much  of  what  he  said  I  have  no  doubt  the  clergyman 
believed :  as  for  the  rest — he  spoke  ex  tempore — he  was 
probably  carried  away  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  by 

207 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

the  passion  of  the  orator.  Another  Sunday  I  might  have 
found  him  helpful.  But  it  wasn't  "another  Sunday!" 
It  was  to-day,  and  it  seemed  the  irony  of  fate  that  such 
words  should  fall  by  chance  upon  the  ears  of  a  woman 
who  was  innocent  of  all  those  things  he  charged ;  one 
whose  misery  it  was  that  she  could  not  make  a  home  for 
somebody ;  one  whose  ideals  of  family  life  were  like  the 
torment  of  Tantalus:  a  woman  to  whom  the  sight  of 
every  little  child  was  verily  a  stab. 

And  I  was  not  the  only  one.  Within  the  sound  of 
that  man's  voice  in  his  church  that  day,  there  must  have 
been  many  women  in  like  circumstance ;  and  there  were 
hundreds,  thousands,  who  read  of  what  he  said:  the 
report  of  that  sermon  was  spread  broadcast  throughout 
the  land.     And  for  all  those  women  I  am  speaking  here. 


CHAPTER   XXXDC 

ALISON'S  KNOWLEDGE  OF  OUR  RELATIONSHIP 
REVEALED  TO  ME 

IN  the  afternoon  I  went  out  for  a  walk.  The  morn- 
ing's tirade  I  had  been  trying  to  forget,  but  with 
the  dreariness  outside — it  had  rained  all  day — and 
the  solitude  indoors,  things  went  from  bad  to  worse. 
Sundays  and  holidays  were  always  the  hardest  to  endure ; 
and  to-day,  after  the  hopefulness  of  the  resolve  to  go  to 
church,  I  suffered  the  reaction  of  a  deeper  loneliness. 

However,  promising  myself  to  "walk  off  the  blues," 
I  started  uptown,  bowling  along  the  avenue  as  if  to  out- 
distance all  unpleasant  thoughts.  I  had  intended  to 
walk  back;  but  the  sleety  rain  that  had  been  falling 
turned  at  last  to  snow,  and  conditions  underfoot  were 
bad.  By  this  time  I  had  lost  count  of  the  streets;  sud- 
denly finding  myself  near  an  Elevated  station  and  reali- 
zing all  at  once  that  I  was  a  long  way  from  home  and  very 
tired,  too,  I  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  downtown  platform. 
As  I  stood  there  waiting  for  a  train,  I  saw  on  the  uptown 
platform  just  across  the  tracks  a  little  boy  alone.  He 
couldn't  have  been  more  than  six  years  old.  When  I 
first  caught  sight  of  him,  he  was  trudging  up  and  down, 
but  presently  he  seated  himself  on  a  bench  and  I  saw 
that  he  was  crying ;  checking  himself  now  and  then  in  a 
child's  hiccough  of  grief,  and  gazing  anxiously  around. 

He  was  evidently  lost.  That  part  of  the  city  was — 
comparatively  speaking — sparsely  settled  then ;  night  was 
coming  on  and  the  sight  of  a  little  child  alone  was  too 
much  for  me.     I  started  to  go  to  him,  but,  turning  back, 

209 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

as  I  sprang  toward  the  stairway,  for  another  look  at  him, 
I  saw  his  mother — I  knew  she  was  his  mother  from  the 
expression  on  her  face — hurrying  through  the  gateway 
leading  to  the  platform  opposite ;  another  step  she  took ; 
and  I  heard  the  child's  cry  of  welcome  and  her  sob  of 
gratitude  as  she  caught  him  in  her  arms.  And  then  the 
train,  thundering  down  the  track  between  us,  shut  them 
from  my  sight.     But  the  preacher  was  refuted. 

When  I  reached  the  boarding  house,  the  servant  who 
admitted  me  said  a  lady  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  recep- 
tion-room. "An  old  lady,"  she  added,  in  response  to 
my  blank  look.  There  was  nothing  familiar  in  the  aspect 
of  the  black-gowned  figure  that  met  my  gaze  in  the 
reception-room;  it  was  only  when  she  began  to  speak 
that  I  recognized  Mrs.  Shelling,  from  the  suburb  of  Man- 
chester, where  my  sister  Alison  had  been  brought  up. 

"Well,  Dorothy,  I  must  say  you  don't  keep  your  old 
friends  posted  on  your  whereabouts,"  she  exclaimed; 
and  then  recounted  her  experiences  in  trying  to  find  me. 

Truth  to  tell,  I  was  not.  glad  to  see  her.  I  remem- 
bered her  as  an  inquisitive  old  woman  who  probed  my 
deepest  wounds,  but  I  reminded  myself  that  she  had 
known  my  mother  and  that,  well  along  in  years,  she  had 
taken  much  trouble  to  look  me  up  on  her  first  visit  to 
New  York;  and  I  exerted  myself  to  make  her  feel  that 
she  was  welcome.  I  took  her  to  my  room  and  there  she 
grew  even  more  communicative  than  she  had  been  down- 
stairs. Much  of  what  she  said  has  nothing  to  do  with 
this  narrative.  But  at  last  she  spoke  of  Alison,  as  I  had 
known  she  would;  all  along  I  had  been  trying  to  steel 
myself  for  that  ordeal. 

"Well,"  she  asked,  "is  the  ice  broke  yet  between  you 
an'  Alison?  Because  if  it  ain't,  I  can  give  you  a  piece 
of  news  that  will  surprise  you  some. ' ' 

I  made  no  reply ;  but  none  was  needed.  Mrs.  Shelling 
hurried  on: 

"You  know  Alison's  always  been  as  proud  as  Lucifer 
210 


ALISON'S  RELATIONSHIP 

an'  never  let  on  to  nobody  whether  she  knew  she  was 
adopted.  My,  that  girl  has  a  head!  She's  taken  about 
all  the  degrees  they've  got  up  there  to  the  college,  an' 
when  she  graduated — the  first  time,  I  mean — they  had 
things  printed  about  her  in  a  book  to  show  how  smart 
she  was.  It  was  a  class  book.  It  seems  she  was  quite  a 
feather  in  their  cap.  You  remember  Professor  Pearse, 
don't  you?  Well,  he's  just  the  same  quiet,  dignified  old 
gentleman  that  he  always  was.  You  know  he  lived 
across  the  street  from  our  house  before  he  moved  to  Col- 
lege Hill.  It  seems  that  one  of  the  students  in  his  class 
quoted  Plato  one  day  as  authority.  *  Yes, '  says  Professor 
Pearse,  bowin'  to  Alison,  'Plato  an'  Miss  Coles  has  said 
so.     It  must  be  so. ' 

"An'  the  class  printed  it  to  show  how  smart  one  of 
their  co-eds  was.  But  as  I  always  said,  Alison  didn't 
get  her  brains  from  the  Coleses.  Well,  anyway,  curiosity 
run  high  among  the  old  inhabitants  whether  Alison  knew 
or  didn't  know  that  you  an'  her  was  sisters.  Of  course. 
Dr.  Coles's  folks  had  tried  like  mad  to  keep  it  from  her, 
but  now  that  Mrs.  Coles  was  dead  an'  the  Doctor  had 
one  foot  in  the  grave,  it  seemed  only  natural  that  she 
should  be  told  by  somebody.  An'  there  was  plenty  that 
would  'ev'  liked  the  job,  only  they  was  scared  of 
Alison." 

The  woman's  garrulity  was  terrible!  Why  wouldn't 
she  come  to  the  point? 

"Howsumever,  on  the  street  one  day  somebody  up  an' 
asked  her  right  in  broad  daylight.  They  do  say  it  was 
Mrs.  Jerbison, "  here  Mrs.  Shelling  leaned  toward  me 
confidentially,  "but  don't  take  it  as  comin'  from  me. 
She  does  beat  all  f'r  curiosity,  though  I  can't  sayf'r  sure 
whether  it  was  her  or  no.  But  at  any  rate  somebody 
stopped  Alison  on  Main  Street  by  the  Comer  Drug  Store 
an'  says  in  cold  blood  to  her:  'Where's  your  sister  now?' 
An'  Alison  she  never  turned  a  hair.  'In  New  York, '  says 
she. 

211 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"Then  she  made  some  remark  about  the  weather  an* 
went  on  where  she  was  started  for;  an'  some  folks  felt 
easier  in  their  minds,  though  they  couldn't  tell  to  save 
'em  if  she  had  known  before  or  if  it  was  broke  to  her 
that  day." 

Mrs.  Shelling  rambled  on  for  a  long  time  afterward, 
but  I  heard  nothing  more :  indeed,  it  was  all  that  I  could 
do  to  appear  to  listen  courteously,  to  answer  her  in- 
quiries, to  invite  her  to  remain  to  supper  and  not  to  be- 
tray my  joy  when  she  declined.  I  had  to  hold  myself  in 
leash,  to  remind  myself  that  this  woman  was  an  old 
friend  of  my  family;  that  she  had  told  me  something 
destined  to  alter  my  whole  future  life,  and  that  I  owed  her 
boundless  gratitude. 

And  while  I  was  trying  to  remember  this,  one  thought 
was  surging  through  my  mind:  "Alison  knows!  Alison 
knows!"  I  wanted  to  be  alone  and  think  of  this  joy  that 
had  come  to  me.  Without  any  dishonorable  action  on 
my  part,  Alison  knew  that  we  were  sisters.  I  was  like 
other  girls  at  last.  There  was  somebody  that  belonged 
to  me. 

Meanwhile  I  sat  there  waiting  for  my  visitor  to  leave, 
trying  to  forget  my  own  affairs  and  show  interest  in 
hers.  The  hour  seemed  interminable.  But  at  last  word 
was  sent  upstairs  that  the  niece  with  whom  Mrs.  Shelling 
was  staying  in  New  York — who  had  dropped  her  here  on 
the  way  downtown — was  in  the  drawing-room.  After 
meeting  the  niece  and  making  an  appointment  to  see 
Mrs.  Shelling  later  in  the  week,  I  escorted  them  both  to 
the  cab  that  was  in  waiting  and  decorously  waved 
them  off. 


CHAPTER  XL 
I  WRITE  MY  SISTER— HER  REPLY 

WITH  a  wild  throb  of  joy  I  rushed  upstairs,  seized 
pen  and  paper,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 
wrote  to  my  sister.  What  I  wrote  I  do  not 
remember  now  and  I  did  not  keep  a  copy  of  that  letter. 
I  only  know  I  wrote  right  from  my  heart,  telling  her  I 
had  just  heard  she  knew  of  our  relationship  and  suggest- 
ing that  we  meet.  I  said  I  had  always  felt  it  would  be 
dishonorable  for  me  to  reveal  myself  to  her,  but  now  that 
she  knew  from  another  source  of  our  relationship,  the 
ban  of  silence  was  removed.  As  the  older  sister,  the  first 
step  devolved  on  me ;  and  I  made  it  clear,  I  know,  that 
this  day  was  the  happiest  of  my  life. 

Then  I  mailed  the  letter  in  the  post  box  on  the  comer 
of  the  street  and  came  back  to  lie  awake  all  night,  build- 
ing castles  in  the  air,  dreaming  of  a  future  with  Alison ; 
she  was  but  three  years  my  junior,  yet  I  thought  of  her 
as  a  child.  Had  she  been  lonely,  too  ?  Had  she  won- 
dered that  I  did  not  write  before  ?  I  would  make  up  to 
her  for  all  the  vanished  years.  Mrs.  Coles  was  dead :  I 
would  be  mother  and  sister  both  to  Alison.  Thus  ran 
the  swift  current  of  my  thoughts ;  and  underneath  it  all 
was  gratitude  to  God.  At  last  my  prayer  was  heard. 
Oh,  I  would,  I  would  be  good. 

Next  day,  as  one  dazed,  I  went  about  my  work :  in 
thought  I  was  following  the  letter  to  the  journey's  end 
and,  when  I  returned  to  the  boarding  house  at  night,  I 
decided  that  barring  accident  she  had  received  it  now. 

213 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

For  three  days,  I  reckoned,  I  mustn't  look  for  a  reply; 
unless — the  possibility  occurred  to  me — unless  she  tele- 
graphed! But  she  would  not  telegraph,  sober  second 
thought  reminded  me,  about  a  matter  so  personal.  I 
must  wait  till  Thursday,  anyway,  without  expecting  to 
hear  from  Alison.  And  I  was  content  to  wait :  the  rev- 
elation of  Sunday  afternoon  had  ushered  in  such  a  differ- 
ent view  of  life  that  I  needed  a  little  time  to  adjust 
myself  to  it ;  and  the  days  passed  quickly  with  so  much 
to  look  forward  to. 

But  when  Thursday  came  and  went,  and  Friday  and 
Saturday  as  well,  with  no  word  from  Alison,  I  was  a  lit- 
tle troubled,  though  I  endeavored  to  make  light  of  my 
anxiety;  the  dear  child  was  probably  away  visiting — "I 
shall  soon  know  her  friends"  flashed  over  me — and  the 
people  at  home  had  not  forwarded  the  letter.  What  if 
some  one  else  had  opened  it  and  destroyed  it,  that  it 
might  never  reach  her?  .  .  .  But  this  suggestion  I 
rejected.  There  was  only,  I  repeated  to  myself,  some 
unavoidable  delay.  What  if  she  were  ill?  .  .  .  But 
no,  that  would  be  too  cruel.  All  was  well  and  would 
continue  to  be  well  if  I  did  not  fret.  What  did  a  few 
days  more  or  less  amount  to?  All  my  life  I  had 
waited  for  Alison,  and  now  with  the  cup  so  near  my 
lips  I  would  have  courage  and  confidence ;  and  patience 
above  all. 

Thus  I  reasoned  for  ten  days.  But  my  step  lagged — 
except  when  I  came  home  at  night.  Every  morning 
when  I  left  the  house  I  thought,  ' '  It  may  be  here  when  I 
return"  ;  every  evening  before  I  went  upstairs,  I  rushed  to 
the  dining-room  and  through  the  doorway  peered  to  my 
place  at  table,  where  my  mail  was  always  put  when 
there  was  mail  for  me. 

On  the  evening  of  the  eleventh  day  I  found  the  letter 
there!  I  was  late,  it  chanced,  and  several  people  had 
already  come  down  to  the  dining-room,  I  was  vaguely 
conscious  that  some  one  spoke  to  me,  but  I  couldn't  rouse 

214 


I  WRITE  MY  SISTER-HER  REPLY 

myself  to  make  reply :  I  could  only  seize  the  letter  and 
hurry  to  my  room. 

There,  with  trembling  fingers,  I  struck  a  match  and 
lighted  the  gas ;  then  gazed  long  at  the  envelope,  observ- 
ing each  minute  detail.  The  letter  was  in  my  hand — but 
I  was  afraid  to  open  it !  Realizing  this,  I  laughed,  a  little 
unsteadily.  '  *  Afraid  ?' '  I  said — and  for  a  moment  hugged 
the  letter  close.     Then  I  opened  it  and  read : 

"My  dear  Miss  Baldwin: 

"I  received  your  letter  several  days  ago  and  have 
waited  about  writing  because  I  feared  my  letter  would 
give  you  pain.  I  cannot  answer  you  otherwise  than 
frankly :  I  am  happy,  my  life  is  full  of  love  and  pleasure. 
There  is  not  one  spark  of  sentiment  in  my  composition. 
I  have  known  always,  as  in  a  dream,  my  own  story,  but 
the  matter-of-fact  side  of  my  life  is  the  only  one  that  im- 
presses me. 

' '  The  love  for  my  father,  for  the  mother,  whose  death 
two  and  a  half  years  ago  is  the  only  shadow  of  all  these 
years,  and  for  my  aunt,  is  so  strong  that  it  utterly  pre- 
cludes the  possibility  of  any  other  relationship.  Don't 
you  see  that  any  sentimental  forming  of  ties  which, 
through  nearly  my  whole  life,  have  not  actually  existed, 
would  make  me  feel  that  I  was  casting  off  the  ones  I 
have  known  and  loved  so  long?  If  you  and  I  were  to 
meet  accidentally,  as  any  two  girls  might,  we  should 
probably  become  friends,  because  of  the  mutual  sympa- 
thies which  two  well-educated  persons  must  have.  But 
I  tell  you  honestly  that  nothing  more  would  be  possible 
for  me. 

' '  It  has  not  been  easy  for  me  to  write  you  so  plainly, 
because  I  hardly  dare  to  hope  that  you  will  not  judge  me 
harshly ;  but  my  own  conscience  would  not  allow  me  to 
be  anything  but  sincere. 

"Will  you  believe  that  I  am  glad  of  your  success — of 
which  I  have  heard  from  others — and  that  I  hope  it  will 
continue  ? 

"Very  cordially  yours, 

"Alison  Coles." 

215 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

The  first  time  I  read  it,  I  didn't  take  in  the  meaning; 
but  the  second  time,  I  read  it  aloud — very  slowly.  Then 
my  hand  fell  open  and  the  paper  fluttered  to  the  floor.  I 
had  been  standing  by  the  gas-jet  near  the  window,  but 
now  I  dropped  into  a  chair,  stretched  my  arms  out  on 
the  table  in  front  of  me  and  bowed  my  head.  I  sat  there 
a  long  time. 

My  first  thought,  when  at  last  I  was  conscious  of 
thought  in  the  blur  of  misery,  was,  "This  is  the  end." 
But  by  and  by  I  realized  that  something  still  remained  to 
do.  Alison  feared  that  I  would  judge  her  harshly.  I 
must  reassure  her  on  that  point.  And  so  I  penned  the 
following  reply : 

' '  I  am  glad  you  have  written  me  an  honest  letter. 
And  I  do  not  judge  you  harshly.  You  misunderstood 
me  sadly,  if  you  thought  I  asked  you  to  cast  off  the  rela- 
tionships of  your  life  and  substitute  me,  an  entire 
stranger,  in  their  place.  Such  action  is  unthinkable,  and 
I  cannot  see  that  an  acquaintance  with  me  would  have 
implied  it.  I  have  always  realized  that  people  are  con- 
genial or  uncongenial  independent  of  the  accident  of 
birth.  The  latter  is  beyond  one's  control,  while  friends 
are  self-chosen.  But  when  they  in  whose  veins  the  same 
blood  chances  to  flow  are  also  friends,  the  friendship 
has,  I  fancy,  an  added  element  of  strength. 

"Whether  an  acquaintance  between  us  would  have 
had  such  outcome,  neither  of  us  can  say.  But  now  that  I 
know  your  mind  I  abide  by  your  decision. 

"With  best  wishes  for  you  now  and  always,  and  ap- 
preciating the  position  in  which  my  letter  placed  you, 
I  remain, 

"Sincerely  yours, 

' '  Dorothy  Baldwin.  ' ' 

As  I  wrote  the  address,  two  big  tears  splashed  down 
on  the  "Alison."  But  I  took  another  envelope  and  tried 
again ;  and  this  time  I  kept  back  the  tears.     I  placed  the 

216 


I  WRITE  MY  SISTER— HER  REPLY 

letter  in  this  second  envelope  and  mailed  it,  as  I  had 
mailed  the  other  letter  less  than  two  weeks  before,  in  the 
post  box  at  the  comer  of  the  street;  then,  with  the  feel- 
ing that  I  had  reached  the  end  of  everything,  I  went  back 
to  the  house. 


15 


CHAPTER  XLI 
THE  DEPTHS  OF  LONELINESS 

THE  letter  from  Alison  plunged  me  into  profound, 
persistent  melancholy.  Thus  far  there  had  always 
been  rebound  from  the  shock  of  disappointment ; 
after  every  blow,  innate  buoyancy  (which  I  had  striven 
to  increase)  had  come  to  my  relief.  But  now  the  feeling 
of  finality  encompassed  me.  It  was  as  if  the  whole 
fabric  of  my  life,  built  up  painstakingly  for  twenty-seven 
years,  had  suddenly  toppled  over  and  crashed  down  upon 
my  head.  And  I  had  no  strength,  no  wish,  to  build  it 
up  again. 

For  the  first  time,  the  oncoming  of  the  spring  made 
no  appeal  to  me.  Every  morning  on  the  way  to  busi- 
ness, I  walked  down  through  Central  Park  from  Seventy- 
second  Street  to  take  the  Elevated  train,  and  late  in  the 
afternoon  returned  by  the  same  route.  But  I,  who  here- 
tofore had  been  alive  to  beauty  everywhere,  was  blind  to 
all  I  saw.  The  tender  green  of  grass  and  foliage,  the  swell- 
ing buds,  the  scent  of  earth  and  growing  things,  the 
countless  manifestations  on  all  sides  of  nature's  wondrous 
resurrection,  wakened  in  me  no  answering  cry  of  joy,  no 
dawn  of  hopefulness. 

And  here  I  must  go  back  a  little  to  relate  something 
which  has  a  distinct  bearing  on  the  state  of  mind  of 
which  I  am  writing  now:  primarily  the  profound  depres- 
sion which  persisted  through  that  spring  was  brought 
about  by  the  communication  from  Alison,  but  it  was  due 
in  great  part,  as  well,  to  all  the  cumulative  influences  of 
my  life. 

218 


THE  DEPTHS  OF  LONELINESS 

It  so  happened  that  two  of  my  school-girl  friends 
lived  not  very  far  away;  they  were  married  and  be- 
longed to  the  class  of  moderately  well-to-do  suburbanites 
who  make  up  so  large  a  share  of  the  population  near 
New  York.  Ever  since  my  coming  to  the  city  these 
friends  had  frequently  invited  me  to  visit  them ;  at  first  I 
accepted  eagerly,  but  as  time  went  on  I  put  in  appearance 
only  at  rare  intervals.  This  was  not  from  any  lessening 
of  cordiality  on  the  part  of  my  old  friends :  each  assured 
me  that  the  latch-string  was  always  out  and,  attributing 
to  disinclination  the  fact  that  I  seldom  availed  myself  of 
her  hospitality,  she  accused  me  of  having  acquired  the 
New  Yorker's  scorn  of  the  commuter's  mode  of  life. 

What  could  I  say?  I  could  not  tell  either  of  those 
friends  the  truth :  that  I  would  give  anything  on  earth 
for  a  home  like  hers ;  that  the  sight  of  her  in  possession 
of  what  I  craved  but  couldn't  get  made  my  own  existence 
all  the  drearier ;  that  after  a  Sunday  spent  in  looking  on 
at  her  happiness,  listening  to  her  confidences,  play- 
ing with  her  babies,  I  returned  to  the  city  robbed  of  all 
my  fortitude.  Time  and  time  again  I  have  been  to  the 
country  for  the  week-end  and,  after  living  up  to  my 
reputation  for  high  spirits,  keeping  up  before  my  friends 
until  traintime,  I  have  come  back  to  cry  my  eyes  out 
through  the  long  hours  of  a  sleepless  night. 

And  so  by  and  by  I  gave  up  the  attempt.  My  friends 
seemed  a  little  hurt  by  what  they  termed  my  *  *  neglect' ' 
of  them;  but  after  all,  one  way  or  the  other,  it  didn't 
matter  much.  Each  of  the  two  was  very  naturally  ab- 
sorbed in  her  family,  and  the  presence  or  absence  of  out- 
siders carried  little  weight.  Accordingly  we  drifted 
apart.     But  when  I  moved  from  the  settlement  to  West 

Seventy Street,  I  determined  to  get  in  touch  with 

my  friends  again.  Jubilant  over  my  escape  from  resi- 
dence in  a  houseful  of  women,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  beginning  life  once  more ;  everything  looked  bright, 
and  I  wrote  at  once  to  those  two  schoolmates,  explaining 

219 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

that  I  had  more  leisure  now  and  asking  if  they  could 
meet  me  in  the  city  some  time  soon  for  luncheon  and  a 
chat?  They  replied  that  family  cares  made  it  hard  for 
them  to  go  from  home  and  suggested  that  I  come  to 
them  instead.     This  I  did. 

The  week  following  the  Sunday  that  I  spent  with  one 
of  them,  I  received  a  letter  from  her ;  it  was  a  long  let- 
ter, too,  for  her  to  write  whose  communications  were 
usually  confined  to  telegraphic  brevity.  ' '  I  want  to  say 
something  to  you, ' '  she  began,  ' '  that  I  did  not  dare  to 
say  when  you  were  here.  Dorothy,  dear,  you  are  making 
a  mistake.  You  ought  to  marry  and  have  a  home.  A 
business  career  may  be  well  enough  for  some  women,  but 
you  are  not  that  kind.  I  have  seen  you  with  my  children 
and  I  know. ' ' 

Then  she  went  on  to  tell  me  of  her  happiness.  What 
she  said  was  very  beautiful,  and  I  read  it  with  the  tears 
streaming  down  my  face.  She  was  five  years  my  senior, 
had  been  married  for  eleven  years,  and  was  the  mother  of 
four  children,  the  youngest  two  years  old.  ' '  Of  course, 
you  don't  realize  at  present,"  she  declared,  "what  the 
future  will  be  like  if  you  go  on  as  you  are.  You  are 
young  and  light-hearted  now,  but  by  and  by  it  will  be 
different.  There's  nothing  that  makes  up  for  the  love  of 
the  man  one  loves;  nothing  that  makes  up  for  one's 
child.  I  don't  want  you  to  cut  yourself  off  from  the 
best." 

I  laid  the  letter  down  and  wiped  my  eyes.  So  I 
"didn't  realize!"  Didn't  realize,  when  all  my  life  I  had 
been  fighting  to  hide  the  misery  from  which  I  could  find 
no  way  of  escape !  The  friend  who  wrote  the  letter  was 
a  sweet  woman:  but  she  had  married  young,  she  couldn't 
understand.  It  had  been  so  easy,  so  natural  for  her  to 
move  from  one  home  to  the  other,  to  become  the  wife  of 
the  man  she  loved,  while  at  the  same  time  she  remained 
a  devoted  father's  only  child ;  her  life  had  been  so  nor- 
mal from  the  start  that  she  didn't  appreciate  the  position 

220 


THE  DEPTHS  OF  LONELINESS 

of  one  whose  life  was  different.  She  didn't  know  in- 
stinctively that  I  summoned  buoyancy  in  self-defense. 
And  of  course  I  never  told. 

There  was  more  of  the  letter,  and  I  read  it  carefully, 
with  gratitude  for  her  kind  thought  of  me.  But  what 
she  thought  was  so  mistaken !  She  wrote  as  if  I  were 
stubbornly  pursuing  a  life  of  "single  blessedness,"  when 
all  I  had  to  do  to  change  it  was  to  choose  among  a  host 
of  eligibles!  There  was  no  reason,  save  perhaps  the 
wish  that  was  father  to  the  thought,  why  she  should  have 
fastened  on  such  absurd  surmise.  Certainly  I  never  said 
anything  to  create  such  a  false  impression;  indeed,  I 
avoided — since  it  was  a  painful  subject — all  reference  to 
men.  The  truth  was  there  was  not  one  eligible  man 
among  my  acquaintances.  The  only  men  I  met  were 
those  who  lived  in  the  boarding  house ;  most  of  them 
were  married,  anyway,  and  as  for  the  others — they  were 
so  impossible  that  not  even  she  with  all  her  enthusiasm 
for  the  married  state,  not  even  I  in  my  depths  of  loneli- 
ness, could  consider  any  one  of  them. 

Evidently  it  never  occurred  to  this  good  friend  of 
mine,  either  now  or  in  earlier  years  when  I  visited  her 
more  often,  to  acquaint  me  with  the  men  she  knew.  In 
saying  this  I  am  not  complaining :  there  may  not  have 
been  any  desirable  men  who  were  still  unmarried  in  the 
small  suburb  where  she  lived,  or  she  may  have  thought 
they  wouldn't  like  me,  or  the  trouble  and  expense  for 
hospitality  that  such  meeting  would  entail  may  have  been 
too  burdensome,  or  her  husband  may  have  been  by  nature 
unsociable.  It  doesn't  matter  what  the  reason  was.  My 
friend  was  occupied  with  the  affairs  of  her  own  family; 
that  she  thought  of  me  at  all  may  have  been  greater 
generosity  than  I  should  have  shown,  had  the  cases  been 
reversed.  It  is  easy  enough  to  think  the  opposite:  but 
one  never  can  be  sure  beforehand.  And  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  happiness  has  a  tendency  to  make  human 
beings  selfish ;  or  at  least  to  render  them  disinclined  to 

221 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

effort  in  behalf  of  others.  I  only  mention  this  episode  to 
show,  with  reference  to  what  was  to  come,  the  effect  it 
had  on  me. 

All  through  that  spring,  then,  every  incident  served 
only  to  deepen  the  depression  that  submerged  me  when  I 
read  my  sister's  answer  to  the  letter  I  wrote  her ;  every 
breath  of  spring,  every  indication  of  pulsing  life  around 
me,  seemed  to  echo  Alison's  refusal,  seemed  to  cut  me 
off  from  any  share  in  the  joy  of  life.  I  was  incapable  of 
plowing  my  way  through  the  slough  of  despondency. 
I  was  trying  only  to  accustom  myself  to  it,  trying  only  to 
endure. 

By  and  by  endurance  came  to  seem  impossible. 
"These  conditions  are  unnatural,"  I  said.  "I  must  put 
an  end  to  them. ' '  And  then  I  was  face  to  face  again 
with  the  old  question,  "How?"  There  was  nothing  in 
the  past  to  which  I  could  turn:  it  must  be  something 
new. 


CHAPTER  XLII 
THE  "PERSONAL  COLUMN'* 

AGAIN  it  was  Sunday,  the  day  I  dreaded  above  all 
else,  excepting  holidays,  which  were  like  a  month 
of  Sundays  rolled  in  one.  After  the  attempt  at 
church-going  of  which  a  previous  chapter  told,  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  try  again.  The  very  thought  of 
church  called  up  not  only  the  morning,  when  full  of  hope 
I  started  in  to  resume  the  habit  of  my  childhood,  but 
even  more  vividly  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  when 
there  came  to  me  the  news  of  Alison  that  prompted  me 
to  write  to  her. 

And  so  the  church  bells,  as  I  heard  them,  brought  no 
invitation ;  instead,  they  seemed  to  sound  the  knell  that 
shut  me  out  from  all  experience,  except  suffering.  And 
I  had  suffered  so  much,  had  fought  so  long  to  repress 
emotion,  that  it  was  not  possible  for  me  at  this  time  to 
take  a  calm,  sane  view  of  anything.  I  was  on  the  verge 
of  suicide.  Every  avenue  of  life  seemed  to  be  closed  to 
me.     But  the  portal  of  death  I  could  open  if  I  chose. 

And  yet  I  think  I  was  saner  than  some  women  are  in 
like  circumstance ;  for  I  realized  my  danger,  I  understood 
my  plight — and  how  I  hated  it !  I  wanted  to  be  normal, 
to  have  serenity  and  poise.  ' '  But  how  can  I, "  I  cried, 
"when  in  spite  of  myself  every  condition  of  my  life  is 
abnormal?" 

I  couldn't  see  any  way  to  change  conditions,  and  I 
knew  I  couldn't  go  on  much  longer  as  I  was;  knew,  too, 
that  grief  wouldn't  kill  me  soon.  My  constitution  was 
good  and,  realizing  from  the  start  that  health  was  my 

223 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

only  capital,  I  had  always  done  everything  in  my  power 
to  keep  strong  and  well.  Such  profound  depression,  as 
that  from  which  I  had  suffered  all  this  spring,  would 
lower  my  vitality  I  knew,  and  probably  in  time  I  should 
succumb  to  some  slow,  lingering  disease.  But  I  had  no 
money  and  no  inclination  for  invalidism ;  everything  in 
my  make-up  rebelled  against  such  a  future.  I  wanted  to 
live,  if  I  could  live  normally;  if  I  couldn't — and  it  looked 
as  if  I  couldn't — then  death,  sudden  death  by  my  own 
hand,  seemed  the  only  alternative.  With  the  iteration 
of  despair,  I  went  over  and  over  the  arguments  for  sui- 
cide and  against  it,  pacing  meanwhile  up  and  down  the 
floor. 

Birds  were  singing  just  outside  my  windows.  The 
sweetness  and  persistence  of  their  song  breaking  in  at 
last  on  my  fixity  of  musing,  I  halted  to  look  at  them  and 
listen.  They  had  built  a  nest  in  one  of  the  trees  in  a 
back  yard  across  the  way  and  were  now  hovering  and 
twittering  around  it ;  their  little  lives  presented  an  aspect 
of  permanence,  of  solidarity,  that  was  utterly  lacking  to 
my  own  existence.  "It's  because  it  takes  two  to  build  a 
nest,"  I  thought,  "whether  they  are  birds  or  humans." 
Then  I  turned  back  to  the  room  that  I  had  tried  so  hard 
to  make  look  like  a  home.  It  was  big  and  bleak  and 
empty ;  and  I  fled  outdoors. 

For  a  time  I  wandered  aimlessly  up  Columbus  Ave- 
nue, then  went  east,  and  by  and  by  turned  in  at  the  Park. 
But  I  didn't  feel  like  walking:  I  didn't  feel  like  anything. 
I  had  come  out  because  I  couldn't  stay  indoors,  and  now 
in  Central  Park  I  sat  down  on  the  first  shaded  bench  I 
found  that  was  unoccupied ;  I  could  hear  the  music  from 
a  church  not  far  away  and  also  the  songs  of  many  birds. 
But  I  cared  for  none  of  them. 

Then  I  began  to  watch  the  people :  it  seemed  to  me  I 
was  the  only  solitary  creature  in  the  Park  that  day.  In 
twos  and  threes  and  groups  of  half  a  dozen  they  passed 
the  bench  where   I   was   sitting.     There   were   family 

224 


THE  "PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

parties,  evidently  setting  out  for  a  holiday :  the  father 
smoking  contentedly,  the  mother  a  little  flurried  with  the 
exertion  of  getting  them  all  started  in  good  season,  but 
with  a  happy  expression  on  her  face;  and  the  children 
bright  and  rosy,  dressed  in  their  Sunday  best.  There 
were  young  lovers,  too,  blind  to  everything  except  each 
other:  their  hard,  unfeeling  happiness  flaunting  in  the 
eyes  of  misery. 

If  I  had  stopped  to  think,  I  should  have  known  that 
all  this  was  right  and  natural;  I  should  have  rejoiced  in 
what  I  saw.  But  I  was  suffering  so  acutely  that  I 
couldn't  "stop  to  think."  It  was  not  that  I  grudged 
others  their  happiness.  But  all  my  being  clamored  for 
its  share.  The  contrast  between  my  own  desolate  exist- 
ence and  that  of  the  passers-by  robbed  me  of  all  sense 
but  hunger.  "Other  people  have  their  share,"  rose 
unbidden  to  my  lips.     "Why  must  I  be  starved?" 

The  same  impulse  that  drove  me  from  the  boarding 
house  now  goaded  me  to  further  activity.  "  If  I  walk  a 
long,  long  way  and  get  all  tired  out,  perhaps  I  can  go 
home  and  sleep,"  I  thought,  and  rose  from  the  bench 
with  the  intention  of  walking  to  the  upper  end  of  Cen- 
tral Park  and  then  on  to  One  Hundred  and  Fifty-fifth 
Street.  For  months  I  had  not  been  sleeping  well  and  I 
was  tired  all  the  time.  But  additional  physical  fatigue, 
if  it  would  bring  respite  from  mental  agony  by  inducing 
sleep,  must  be  purchased  at  all  costs. 

And  so  I  started ;  but  the  sun  was  now  nearly  overhead 
and  the  day  was  very  warm.  I  kept  meeting  happy, 
radiant  creatures,  and  by  and  by  I  was  aware  that  tears 
were  running  down  my  cheeks.  I  dashed  them  away, 
but  it  did  no  good,  others  took  their  place.  At  last  I 
caught  some  one — a  young  girl  she  was,  with  all  the 
hall-marks  of  youth's  freshness  and  beauty  upon  her — 
glancing  at  me  curiously  as  she  passed ;  and  the  convic- 
tion was  borne  in  upon  me,  that,  if  I  had  no  more  self- 
control  than  to  cry  in  public,  it  was  high  time  I  went 

225 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

home.  What  if  I  should  meet  some  of  the  people  from 
the  settlement?  Or  some  of  the  women  from  uptown 
with  whom  my  work  brought  me  in  touch? 

In  the  daily  round  of  business,  women  had  often  ap- 
pealed to  me  in  difficulty :  they  looked  on  me,  I  knew,  as 
endowed  with  strength,  common  sense,  and  resourceful- 
ness. I  stopped  right  where  I  was :  no  one  was  in  sight, 
and  at  that  spot  in  Central  Park  it  was  as  if  I  were 
in  some  forest  wilderness.  "I  have  counseled  others 
wisely,  so  they  say,"  I  thought.  "Can  I  not  save  my- 
self?" And  then  and  there  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
some  way — how  I  did  not  know — I  would  work  out  my 
own  salvation.  Having  come  to  this  decision,  I  turned, 
and  dry-eyed  made  my  way  to  the  nearest  exit  on  Eighth 
Avenue. 

As  I  crossed  the  street  to  board  a  downtown  car,  for 
I  now  meant  to  go  home  at  once,  a  newsstand  at  the 
comer  caught  my  eye,  and  I  bought  two  Sunday  papers. 
My  own  copy  of  the  journal  that  I  regularly  read  lay  un- 
opened in  my  room ;  the  two  that  I  had  just  now  purchased 
were  papers  that  I  rarely  saw.  But  with  the  three  of 
them  to  open  up  different  fields  of  activity,  I  felt  I  ought 
to  hit  on  something  that  should  serve  as  a  new  interest, 
something  that  should  save  me  from  myself. 

Thus  far  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  people  in  the 

Seventy Street  boarding  house ;  most  of  them  were 

women  and,  seeing  so  many  women  in  the  course  of 
business  every  day,  I  didn't  care  for  more  of  feminine 
society.  There  were  a  few  men  in  the  household,  too, 
but  to  them  as  well  I  was  indifferent :  most  of  them  were 
married,  anyway,  and  not  one  among  them  could  be 
compared  with  the  married  men  at  Mrs.  Miggs's.  How- 
ever, when  I  first  went  to  Seventy Street,  I  resolved 

to  be  affable  to  every  one ;  the  people  were  not  prepossess- 
ing, to  be  sure,  but  I  reasoned  that  when  I  knew  them 
better  I  should  find  much  to  respect  and  like.  I  had  an 
idea  that  in  the  past  people  in  boarding  houses  had  some- 

226 


THE  ''PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

times  thought  me  unapproachable,  and  this  time  I  deter- 
mined not  to  give  offense. 

Accordingly,  from  the  day  that  I  moved  in,  I  met 
half-way  all  overtures  toward  sociability.  My  room  was 
large  and  people  formed  the  habit  of  dropping  in  there 
after  dinner.  Women  who  could  lie  abed  till  noon  often 
kept  me  up  till  past  midnight  with  accounts  of  what 
"he"  said  and  what  "she"  said — ^when  neither  of  them 
said  anything  that  could  possibly  be  of  interest  to  any 
one  except  themselves — and  obliged  me  to  listen  to  gos- 
sip and  share  in  varied  forms  of  pettiness.  By  and  by  I 
learned  that,  in  self-defense,  a  working  woman  cannot 
afford  to  see  much  of  the  people  in  her  boarding  house ; 
if  she  does,  they  make  such  demands  upon  her  time  as 
to  unfit  her  for  her  work.  My  fellow-boarders  were  all 
well-meaning  and  I  wished  them  well.  But  it  was  im- 
possible to  cultivate  any  closer  relations  than  those  de- 
manded by  ordinary  civility.  So  I  went  my  way  and  let 
them  go  theirs. 

This,  I  think,  is  a  truthful  picture  of  the  situation  in 
that  boarding  house  at  the  time  of  which  I  write.  Of 
late,  I  had  been  conscious  that  people  speculated  on  the 
change  in  my  appearance  since  I  moved  into  the  house, 
but  I  cared  not  what  they  thought.  To-day,  however,  as 
the  street-car  carried  me  and  the  two  Sunday  newspapers 
nearer  and  nearer  to  my  destination,  I  recognized  in  my- 
self an  awakening  interest.  The  mere  resolve  to  find 
some  way  out  of  my  isolation,  the  instinct  against 
despair,  was  revivifying.  As  I  alighted  from  the  car 
and  hurried  home  to  dinner,  I  was  glad  that  I  was  late : 
there  would  be  fewer  people  in  the  dining-room  to  notice 
my  red  eyes. 

I  had  more  appetite  for  dinner  than  for  a  long  time 
before,  and  when  the  meal  was  finished  it  was  inspiriting 
to  think  that  I  actually  had  a  reason  for  hurrying  up- 
stairs: I  was  going  to  "find  a  way  or  make  one"  to  a 
new  interest !    My  ideas  were  a  little  vague  as  to  how 

227 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

this  could  be  done;  but,  once  inside  my  room,  I  reso- 
lutely sat  me  down  to  the  task  of  searching  through  the 
columns  of  the  three  bulky  newspapers,  as  one  on  whom 
the  responsibility  devolves  of  finding — not  a  needle,  but 
a  jewel — in  a  haymow.  If  one  is  to  find  the  jewel,  cour- 
age must  be  high. 

First  I  went  through  the  news  columns,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  that  a  careful  study  of  what  other  people  were 
doing  in  the  world  might  be  fruitful  in  suggestion  con- 
cerning the  employment  of  my  own  spare  time  and 
energy.  But  the  activities  pursued  by  the  people  of 
whom  I  read  in  those  three  newspapers — there  was  a 
deal  of  repetition — demanded  more  time  and  money  than 
I  had.  Departures  for  Europe  were  chronicled;  space 
was  lavished  on  the  flittings  of  fashionable  folk  at  home ; 
taking  the  baths  abroad  was  recommended,  and  the  ad- 
vantages of  bicycling  were  enlarged  upon. 

All  this  was  excellent  for  those  for  whom  it  was 
intended.  But  it  didn't  fit  my  needs.  What  cared  I, 
who  must  spend  the  summer  in  New  York,  who  had  not 
a  living  soul  to  go  even  to  Coney  Island  with  me,  for  the 
steamers'  sailing  lists,  for  descriptions  of  costumes  suit- 
able for  foreign  spas,  for  the  attractions  of  a  monster 
hotel  soon  to  open  in  the  mountains,  for  a  thousand  cin- 
der paths? 

I  had  always  thought  that  if  I  lived  in  the  country  I 
should  be  an  enthusiastic  bicyclist.  But  in  the  city  and 
alone  I  had  never  had  courage  to  mount  a  wheel ;  in  fact, 
I  had  never  been  near  enough  a  wheel  to  experiment. 
To  be  sure,  I  had  seen  young  women — some  of  them 
unaccompanied — on  bicycles  in  town  darting  in  and  out 
of  traffic  in  the  crowded  streets ;  but  the  sight  awoke  in 
me  only  wonder  that  they  dared.  There  was  a  good  deal 
in  my  make-up  of  the  old-fashioned  woman  who  hates  to 
go  anywhere  alone,  and  now  I  passed  by  without  interest 
an  article  entitled,  ' '  Etiquette  of  the  Cinder  Path. ' ' 

Wistfully  I  read  of  bowling  clubs  in  different  parts  of 
228 


THE  "PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

town :  most  of  them  were  holding  the  last  meeting  of  the 
season  now.  Bowling,  I  thought,  would  be  good  exer- 
cise and  good  fun,  but  how  could  a  girl  alone  knock  for 
admittance  at  the  doors  of  a  bowling  club  ?  She  must 
have  friends  to  open  such  doors  for  her. 

There  was  mention  also  of  riding  clubs ;  and  the  final 
meeting  (for  a  season  prolonged  through  the  lateness  of 
the  spring)  of  dancing  classes  was  reported  at  some 
length,  with  the  list  of  patronesses  for  the  coming  winter. 
Here  again  I  was  confronted  in  my  mind's  eye  by  squad- 
rons of  floor  managers,  by  the  frown  of  chaperons,  by  the 
whole  mechanism  of  conventions  in  which  I  had  no  part. 
In  college  I  had  learned  to  dance,  and  enjoyed  it  very 
much ;  but  since  the  summer  at  the  seashore — six  years 
ago,  it  was — when  I  met  Paul  Forsythe,  I  had  not  danced 
a  step,  save  occasionally  with  some  of  the  girls  at  the 
settlement  when  I  was  in  residence :  there  had  been  no 
opportunity.  And  now  to  read  of  young  men  and  girls 
really  meeting,  bowling,  riding,  dancing,  was  like  read- 
ing of  another  world  with  which  I  had  no  means  of  com- 
munication. 

Week-end  parties  at  country  homes  were  written  up, 
house  boats,  gayeties  in  prospect  for  the  coming  season 
at  near-by  resorts ;  also  the  opening  of  roof  gardens  in 
New  York.  But  what  had  this  to  do  with  me  ?  I  must 
spend  the  summer  between  the  office  and  my  boarding 
place.  I  couldn't  go  out  for  pleasure  in  the  evening  by 
myself. 

In  those  three  newspapers  I  searched  long  for  some 
advice  for  ' '  The  Girl  Alone  in  New  York  in  the  Summer 
Time."  But  that  girl  wasn't  in  the  newspapers:  there 
seemed  to  be  no  place  for  her  in  anybody's  scheme  of 
things.  Yet  she  was  here  in  thousands !  She  was  here 
(so  much  the  worse  for  her)  to  stay!  Established  in 
the  city,  she  had  no  chance  elsewhere.  What  was  she 
to  do? 

With  a  deep  sigh  of  discouragement  I  threw  down  the 
229 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

newspapers,  "A  woman  alone  seems  to  be  a  criminal," 
I  said.  Then  new  determination  answered  me.  "But 
I'm  not  a  criminal,  and  I  will  find  a  place  or  make  one. " 
And  I  took  up  the  newspapers  again. 

The  telegraphic  news  brought  word  of  a  wonderful 
discovery  that  was  destined,  so  the  prediction  ran,  to 
revolutionize  one  branch  of  surgery.  There  were  accounts 
of  recent  excavations  in  the  Roman  forum,  and  records 
of  experiments  in  the  field  of  scientific  research.  All 
this  I  read  for  the  sake  of  general  information,  but 
I  couldn't  make  it  fit  my  case.  I  was  no  genius,  no 
scholar,  no  scientist :  I  was  a  woman  half -dead  of  loneli- 
ness, out  of  her  element,  trying  to  find  the  way  back  into 
harmony  with  life. 

Finally  I  discarded  the  telegraphic  news,  the  social 
gossip,  the  poetry,  the  book  reviews,  the  pages  devoted 
to  matters  of  the  theater  and  to  the  sporting  news,  and 
turned  my  attention  to  the  comic  supplement  and  the 
advertisements.  Ordinarily  both  of  these  I  scorned.  But 
to-day  it  was  different.  If  in  the  gaudy  pages  of  the 
comic  supplement  or  in  the  acres  of  advertisements  there 
lurked  one  idea  that  I  could  turn  to  practical  advantage, 
I  was  determined  not  to  let  it  slip. 

But  the  comic  supplement  seemed  to  be  utterly  devoid 
of  sense ;  with  the  best  will  in  the  world  to  be  diverted, 
I  was  only  bored ;  with  eagerness  to  seize  upon  ideas,  I 
found  not  one  idea  to  seize :  so  I  threw  those  pages  in  the 
scrap  basket,  where  the  other  sections  now  reposed,  and 
gathering  together  all  the  advertisements  pinned  my 
hopes  thereto. 

First  I  turned  to  the  columns  dealing  with  instruc- 
tion, for  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  take  up  some  branch 
of  study.  Studying  in  itself  was  not  attractive,  but,  as 
possible  means  of  giving  me  something  new  to  think 
about,  it  might  be  worth  a  try;  or — I  remembered  the 
college  days  when  I  presided  over  a  "district  school" — 
I  might  find  somebody   to   teach.     Other  things  being 

230 


THE  "PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

equal,  it  would  be  better  to  have  money  coming  in  than 
going  out. 

What  branches  then  was  I  qualified  to  teach?  The 
rudiments,  of  course,  and  possibly  I  still  retained  some 
fragment  of  the  classics :  Latin  and  Greek  comprised  the 
only  portion  of  the  college  curriculum  that  I  had  ever 
studied  with  interest,  and  I  was  so  rusty  now  that  I 
would  better  brush  up  first.  But  my  time  was  very  lim- 
ited, either  for  studying  or  teaching :  practically  I  had 
only  the  evening  free,  and  I  doubted  whether  I  could  find 
pupils  to  spend  the  long  summer  evenings  with  the  dead 
languages.  Still,  one  never  knew  until  she  tried,  and  in 
almost  a  column  of  advertisements  pertaining  to  instruc- 
tion something  worth  while  might  be  found. 

Inspection  soon  disclosed  a  sameness  in  all  of  them : 
there  were  plenty  of  notices  of  schools  and  "business 
colleges, ' '  and  several  persons  made  it  known  that  they 
were  prepared  to  remedy  the  defects  of  a  neglected  edu- 
cation in  the  shortest  time  and  at  the  lowest  rates :  there 
were  also  dancing  "academies"  that  "positively  guar- 
anteed the  waltz  in  five  lessons  and  with  the  strictest 
privacy!"  And  from  varied  samples  of  publicity,  I 
gleaned  that  almost  anything  from  massage  to  advertis- 
ing could  be  speedily  and  successfully  taught  by  mail. 

The  tone  of  all  this  repelled  me.  I  had  no  money  to 
throw  away  on  catch-penny  devices.  It  struck  me  as  a 
little  strange  that  so  many,  many  people  wanted  to  give 
lessons,  and  that  almost  nobody  wanted  to  be  taught. 
There  was,  however,  one  advertisement  inserted  osten- 
sibly by  a  mother  (whose  son  needed  coaching  in  Latin 
and  mathematics)  that  looked  as  if  it  would  be  worth  in- 
vestigating. But  morning  hours  for  lessons  were  insisted 
on  and,  as  I  was  busy  in  the  office  far  downtown  from 
nine  o'clock  till  five — and  it  was  almost  always  half -past 
five  before  I  could  start  home — the  only  desirable  adver- 
tisement in  the  whole  realm  of  instruction  was  beyond 
my  reach. 

231 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Then  I  searched  the  "help  wanted"  columns.  Sten- 
ographers, it  seemed,  were  greatly  in  demand;  also 
cooks,  waitresses,  parlor  maids,  second  girls,  scrub 
women,  workers  on  fancy  feathers,  errand  girls,  laun- 
dresses. But  the  longer  I  looked  the  more  I  was  con- 
vinced that  it  was  next  to  impossible  for  a  woman  like 
myself  to  find  work  for  her  leisure  time. 

And  I  needn't  have  been  surprised.  For  years  our 
society  had  maintained  a  high  class  employment  bureau ; 
from  my  efforts  in  behalf  of  others,  I  knew  the  difficulty 
of  "placing"  a  woman  like  myself  and  the  difficulty  was, 
of  course,  increased  when  only  evening  hours  were  at 
one's  command.  I  had  known  it  all  before:  but  to-day  I 
had  seized  upon  the  advertising  columns  like  a  drowning 
man  clutching  at  a  straw. 

There  were,  of  course,  good  positions  for  women  in 
New  York.  I  had  one  myself,  and  never  had  I  so  deeply 
appreciated  it  as  since  my  meeting  with  Mr,  Vilmerding. 
But  such  positions  were  not  as  a  rule  secured  through 
newspaper  advertisement.  Mine  I  had  secured  eight 
years  ago  through  Mrs.  Yorke,  and  were  she  now  in  busi- 
ness I  believed  that  I  should  apply  to  her  to  find,  if  pos- 
sible, something  for  me  to  do  in  the  evening,  though  I 
had  an  idea  that  she  would  refuse  on  the  ground  that  I 
was  already  working  hard  enough. 

But  at  all  events  I  couldn't  go  to  Mrs.  Yorke.  She 
had  given  up  business,  and  in  my  heart  I  shrank  from 
telling  her  or  any  go-between  the  real  reason  for  my 
search.  It  wasn't  that  I  stood  in  any  particular  need  of 
money;  I  could  live,  and  save  something,  too,  on  my  sal- 
ary. But  I  was  so  desperately  lonely,  the  evenings  were 
so  long!  I  wasn't  made  for  such  existence.  I  couldn't, 
couldn't  stand  it! 

All  at  once  the  courage,  the  determination  that  had 
buoyed  me  up,  collapsed  and  I  was  in  the  depths,  just 
where  I  had  been  before ;  only  with  less  strength  to  rise. 

There  was  no  one  on  earth  who  cared  what  became  of 
232 


THE  "PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

me.  I  had  a  sister,  yes;  but  I  might  better  have  had 
none,  for  then  I  shouldn't  have  been  hoping  all  my  life 
— as  I  now  realize  I  had  hoped  secretly — that  some  day 
we  should  meet.  The  hope  was  shattered  now  and  I  was 
the  more  desolate  for  having  cherished  it.  Of  Alison, 
my  sister,  I  had  never  spoken  to  any  one ;  all  through  the 
years,  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  utter  one  syllable.  But 
now  it  seemed  that  if  I  could  open  my  heart  to  somebody 
— not  any  one,  but  somebody — the  effect  of  the  long-con- 
tinued repression  would  be  softened  somewhat  and  life  in 
future  would  be  easier  to  bear. 

For  I  knew  now  that  I  must  go  on  living:  whatever 
else  to-day  had  done  or  failed  to  do,  it  had  shown  me 
that.  But  how  to  live  bravely  and  worthily?  I  thought 
that  I  could  bear,  that  I  would  bear  without  complaint, 
any  agony  except  that  of  loneliness ;  I  was  not  afraid  of 
work,  of  physical  suffering,  of  poverty,  if  only  I  need  not 
be  alone.  A  verse,  that  I  had  cut  out  from  a  newspaper 
years  before  and  memorized,  now  recurred  to  me : 

And  two  shall  walk  some  narrow  way  of  life 
So  nearly  side  by  side  that  should  one  turn 
Ever  so  little  space  to  left  or  right 
They  needs  must  stand  acknowledged  face  to  face ; 
And  yet  with  wistful  eyes  that  never  meet. 
With  groping  hands  that  never  clasp,  and  lips 
Calling  in  vain  to  ears  that  never  hear. 
They  seek  each  other  all  their  weary  days 
And  die  unsatisfied — and  this  is  Fate  ! 

There  had  been  two  verses :  the  first  dealt  with  the 
two  who  meet.  This  I  did  not  keep,  for  even  then, 
when  I  first  read  it,  I  seemed  to  feel  the  inappropriateness 
to  my  own  existence  of  the  joy  it  chronicled.  But  the 
second  verse — the  one  I  memorized — seemed  to  have  been 
made  for  me.  The  name  of  the  author  was  not  given  in 
the  newspaper  from  which  I  cut  the  verse  and  I  never 
knew  who  wrote  it.  It  didn't  matter  who  wrote  it:  the 
16  233 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

words  were  always  with  me,  they  were  part  of  my  daily 
experience. 

For  a  long  time  after  I  had  exhausted  the  resources 
of  the  "help  wanted"  advertisements,  I  sat  there  with 
the  several  sections  of  the  paper  in  my  hands.  But  I 
wasn't  reading:  I  was  thinking  of  the  path  that  I  had 
traveled  all  the  way  from  grandfather's. 

"When  the  game  of  dice  breaks  up,"  somebody  has 
said,  "he  who  lost  lingers  sorrowfully  behind,  going 
over  the  throws  and  learning  by  his  grief."  But  I 
couln't  see  where  I  might  have  won  anything  that  I  had 
missed;  I  couldn't  see,  save  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Vilmer- 
ding,  where  I  could  have  avoided  any  unhappiness.  Ex- 
cept for  that  brief  incident,  which  came  about  through 
my  honest  but  mistaken  search  for  work,  there  was 
nothing — so  it  seemed  to  me — for  which  I  was  to  blame. 
I  had  done  the  best  I  know :  this  was  the  result. 

Then  all  at  once  I  realized  that  the  afternoon  was 
gone — and  I  had  found  nothing !  Tossing  the  last  of  the 
newspapers  onto  the  pile  in  the  scrap  basket,  I  rose  with 
a  sense  of  utter  helplessness  and  stretched  out  my  arms. 

"The  world  is  wide, "  I  said.  "Isn't  there  some  one 
else  who  is  lonely,  too?  Somebody  who  would  under- 
stand about  Alison — and  everything?" 

The  silence  of  the  room  seemed  to  mock  at  me,  the 
four  walls  to  hurl  down  on  me  a  pall,  black  and  smother- 
ing. "Oh,  God!"  I  cried;  and  flung  myself  upon  the 
couch.  With  closed  eyes  I  lay  there,  seeing  the  ques- 
tions to  which  there  was  no  answer  go  round  and  round 
like  the  hands  of  a  clock. 

When  at  last  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  first  object  I  ob- 
served was  the  scrap  basket  which,  too  fragile  for  its 
heavy  weight,  had  toppled  to  one  side.  In  straighten- 
ing it,  I  took  out  a  portion  of  its  load ;  and  in  my  sys- 
tematic way  placed  the  sections  of  the  newspapers  thus  re- 
moved in  a  pile  alongside,  so  that  the  maid  next  morning 
would  understand  that  they  too  were  to  be  thrown  away. 

234 


THE  ''PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

In  doing  this,  I  chanced  upon  a  portion  of  one  news- 
paper which  early  in  the  afternoon  I  had  discarded  as 
of  no  avail.  It  was  the  first  page  and,  among  the 
"Deaths,"  a  familiar  name  sprang  out  at  me;  but  when  I 
looked  more  closely  I  saw  it  was  nobody  I  knew. 

"In  the  seventy-third  year  of  her  age,"  the  notice 
read. 

"I  wonder  if  I'll  have  to  live  as  long  as  that?"  I 
mused,  haunted  by  the  vision  of  my  solitary  figure  mov- 
ing slowly  down  the  vista  of  the  years  ahead. 

Then  the  advertisements  in  the  column  at  the  left  of 
the  "Marriages  and  Deaths" — the  "Personals" — caught 
my  eye;  and  idly  I  read  some  of  them.  They  differed 
widely  in  form  and  phraseology,  but  for  every  one  of  them 
there  was  this  invarying  close : '  *  object,  matrimony. ' ' 

In  a  general  way  I  had  known  that  certain  news- 
papers published  advertisements  like  these,  and  I  remem- 
bered having  heard  persons  in  boarding  houses  whom  I 
considered  decidedly  ill-bred  refer  to  them  with  a  laugh 
or  a  knowing  look,  accompanied  by  the  remark,  ' '  A  per- 
sonal says,  'object  matrimony' ;  it  means  'object  to  matri- 
mony. '  ' ' 

This  I  always  took  to  be  a  reference  to  the  ways  of 
criminals  and  adventurers :  as  such  I  resented  it.  There 
was  vileness  in  the  world,  of  course ;  but  that  was  no 
excuse,  I  said  to  myself,  for  polluting  the  air  that  decent 
people  breathed  by  talking  of  it :  much  less  for  making  it 
a  joke.  However,  the  would-be  facetious  boarder,  which 
type  I  fancy  every  boarding  house  contains,  continued 
to  include  ridicule  of  "personals"  in  his  list  of  pleas- 
antries, along  with  the  mother-in-law  joke,  the  quip  at 
the  expense  of  the  bank-cashier-skipping-to-Canada,  the 
yam  about  the  money  he  had  lent,  and  those  comments 
on  the  food  which  with  him  were  customary  at  the  din- 
ner hour. 

My  idea  of  ' '  personals, ' '  therefore,  based  on  no  cer- 
tain knowledge  of  my  own,  was  of  necessity  colored  by 

235 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

what  I  heard;  and  in  unconscious  imitation  I,  too,  had 
soon  learned  to  sniff  in  orthodox  superiority  and  to  turn 
the  page  at  once  when  the  personal  column  met  my  eye. 

But  to-day,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  read  a  per- 
sonal :  more  than  that  I  read  the  whole  column  through. 
There  was  one  I  read  three  times :  it  was  signed  "X.  Y. " 
And  I  didn't  laugh  or  sneer.  I  was  too  sincere  in  grop- 
ing toward  the  light,  and  too  forlorn  as  well,  to  be  dis- 
dainful now  of  any  will-o'-the-wisp  which  for  the  mo- 
ment might  illumine  the  dark  path  I  trod.  I  had  lived 
close  to  realities  too  long,  so  I  assured  myself,  to  be 
frightened  by  appearances:  though,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  in  what  I  read  to  cause 
any  one  alarm.  It  all  looked  respectable.  Why  delve 
beneath  the  surface,  then,  for  motives  which  were  prob- 
ably not  there? 

Presently  I  took  up  the  cudgels  in  defense  of  those, 
reference  to  whom  I  had  heretofore  considered  unfit  for.  a 
girl  to  hear.  What  right  had  I,  what  right  had  any  one 
to  brand  as  evil  the  whole  mass  of  personals,  to  dispose  of 
them  wholesale  by  the  flippant  phrase,  ' '  rotten  to  the 
core?"  What  right  to  attribute  thought  of  wrong  to 
those  who  might  be  innocent?  Why,  there  might  be 
some  girl  like  me  in  that  company !  There  might  even 
be — perhaps — somebody  who —  But  no :  old  habits,  old 
restraints,  the  prejudices  I  had  inherited,  the  cynical 
expressions  I  had  heard,  checked  the  wild  flight  of  my 
mind.  I  smiled  a  little  bitterly  and  with  another  glance 
at  "X.  Y. 's"  description  of  himself  (which  I  had  already 
read  three  times)  I  folded  the  newspaper  with  unnecessary 
vim  and  tucked  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  pile. 

After  supper — the  dreary  Sunday  evening  meal  in  a 
boarding  house  to  which  only  those  repair  who  have 
nowhere  else  to  go — I  made  myself  attend  a  religious 
service  in  the  settlement.  It  was  a  long  way  down  there 
and  I  hated  going  anywhere  by  myself  at  night ;  but  this 
time  it  was  easier  than  to  stay  at  home,  in  a  room  that 

236 


THE  "PERSONAL  COLUMN" 

was  crowded  full  of  the  consciousness  of  one  page  of  a 
newspaper  that  lay  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  the  pile. 

In  the  old  environment  again  with  the  girls  I  met  on 
weekdays,  apparently  surprised  and  pleased  by  my  pres- 
ence at  the  Sunday  evening  class  which  they  themselves 
conducted,  the  realm  of  the  habitual  asserted  its  suprem-^ 
acy ;  even  to  peer  beyond  the  confines  of  routine  took  on 
the  semblance  of  unreality,  while  the  world  where  "per- 
sonals" existed  receded  to  such  distance  that  I  could  not 
span  the  interval.  The  picture  of  myself  bending  over 
the  first  page  of  that  newspaper  was  like  recollection  of 
a  dream. 

But  on  the  way  home  in  the  Elevated  train,  the  sense 
of  my  exclusion  from  the  common  lot  again  laid  hold  on 
me  with  a  grip  like  that  of  an  enemy  who  for  awhile  has 
apparently  relaxed  his  vigilance,  but  in  reality  has  been 
watching  his  chance  to  secure  a  firmer  hold ;  having  se- 
cured it,  he  returns  to  the  attack  with  energy  tenfold. 

As  I  looked  about  me,  I  saw  men  and  women  chatting 
of  everyday  affairs  with  the  easy  familiarity  that  does  not 
always  breed  contempt;  in  some  instances  I  marked  the 
air  of  comradeship,  the  subtle  sense  of  togetherness  to 
which  I  was  at  all  times  alert.  The  people  in  the  car 
appeared  to  be  respectable,  I  thought;  and  I  fell  to  won- 
dering how  their  acquaintance  had  begun.  Perhaps 
some  of  these  couples  had  been  to  school  together ;  others 
had  doubtless  been  introduced  by  friends  or  had  found 
each  other  in  any  one  of  half  a  dozen  ways  society  ap- 
proves. If  some  of  them  had  met  for  the  first  time  under 
unconventional  circumstances,  whose  business  was  it  but 
their  own  ?  What  did  it  matter  now  ?  They  had  met : 
that  was  the  main  thing. 

'  Tf  a  girl  has  no  chance  to  make  acquaintances  con- 
ventionally, what  is  she  going  to  do?"  I  asked  myself. 
"Must  she  be  all  her  life  alone  because  society  takes  no 
heed  of  her?  What  have  I  to  do  with  society,  anyway? 
i,  an  isolated  fragment  of  humanity  with  no  place  of  my 

237 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

own,  with  nobody  that  belongs  to  me,  with  no  knowledge 
of  anything  in  life  but  suffering?  To  whom  am  I 
responsible?" 

These  questionings  persisted  till  I  reached  the  board- 
ing house.  As  I  opened  the  door  into  my  own  room  from 
the  hall,  a  draught  of  air — a  window  opposite  was  open 
wide  and  a  strong  wind  had  sprung  up — caught  and  blew 
across  the  floor  the  topmost  papers  I  had  heaped  beside 
the  scrap  basket.  Hastily  I  collected  and  replaced  them, 
then,  more  slowly,  pulled  out  from  the  bottom  of  the  pile 
the  section  that  contained  the  personals.  I  took  it  to  the 
light  and  ran  my  finger  down  the  column  till  I  found  the 
one  signed  "X.  Y."  It  didn't  take  long:  I  knew  just 
where  it  was. 

Then  I  compared  "X.  Y. 's"  description  of  himself 
with  the  mental  picture  I  retained  of  the  men  I  had  just 
now  been  studying  in  the  Elevated  train.  "Why,  that 
sounds  better  than  any  of  those  men  looked.  .  .  .  There's 
nothing  to  criticise  in  that.  .  .  .  What  if  I  should 
answer  it?" 

In  recoil  I  started  back ;  and,  turning  violently,  con- 
fronted my  own  reflection  in  the  mirror,  shamefaced  and 
horrified.     " Oh,  I  can't, ' '  I  gasped.     ' ' I  can't. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XLin 
MRS.  WELLS  ASSISTS 

ALL  through  the  week  it  went  on  like  that,  my  mind 
fluctuating  between  two  extremes ;  contemplating 
now  this  contingency,  now  that;  weighing,  in  so 
far  as  I  was  able,  all  the  pros  and  cons.  When  I  came 
home  from  business  Monday  evening,  it  was  a  relief  to 
find  that  the  chambermaid  had  removed  the  newspaper ; 
later  in  the  week  I  wished  that  it  were  there.  All  the 
time  I  thought  of  it — and  wondered  what  to  do. 

But  by  Saturday  evening  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
that,  if  "X.  Y. "  reappeared  in  next  day's  "personals,"  I 
would  write  to  him.  I  had  no  intention  of  using  my 
own  name,  of  course,  nor  of  giving  my  address.  I  remem- 
bered having  seen  in  various  small  shops  the  inconspicu- 
ous sign,  "Private  letter  boxes."  I  also  remembered 
that,  seeing  such  signs,  I  had  drawn  aside  my  skirts ! 

"That  was  because  I  didn't  know, "  said  L  "There's 
no  combination  so  inflexible  as  youth  and  ignorance. ' ' 
But  all  the  same,  the  thought  of  the  arrangements  I  must 
make  was  not  pleasant  to  dwell  on ;  yet,  having  decided 
to  venture,  I  was  determined  not  to  flinch. 

With  the  decision  of  Saturday,  which  put  an  end  to 
the  controversy  with  myself,  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  re- 
lief. After  suspense,  certainty  of  any  kind  makes  for 
peace  of  mind,  temporarily,  at  least ;  and  that  night,  for 
the  first  time  in  months,  I  slept  well. 

Sunday  morning  when  I  awoke,  it  was  with  the  im- 
pression of  standing  on  the  threshold  of  a  day  destined  to 
be  fraught  with  consequence.     I  had  turned  my  back  on 

239 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

the  hard  path  of  the  actual :  before  me  loomed  the  great 
Perhaps.  I  did  not  deceive  myself  with  the  belief  that 
the  future  would  necessarily  be  easier  than  the  past.  I 
hoped  it  would  be  easier :  at  all  events  it  would  be  differ- 
ent. And  change  of  some  kind  was  imperative.  There 
was  in  me  nothing  of  the  spirit  of  the  girl  who  is  bent 
upon  amusement.  It  was  all  dead  earnest.  I  had  tried, 
to  no  avail,  everything  else  within  my  power.  Only 
this  remained ;  and  I  was  prepared  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out :  it  was  raining, 
with  the  slow  persistence  that  promises  a  long,  wet  day. 
The  occasional  grumble  of  distant  thunder  seemed  to  say 
the  showers  had  passed  over  to  some  more  favored  spot ; 
in  the  city  we  were  doomed  to  all-day  dreariness. 

After  breakfast  I  stole  out  to  the  newsstand  on  the 
comer  and  bought  a  copy  of  the  newspaper  that  con- 
tained the  ' '  personals. ' '  It  was  cumbersome  and  bulky, 
but  all  that  counted  was  the  outside  page.  This  I  turned 
inside,  the  better  to  shield  it  from  the  wet,  tucked  the 
whole  thing  underneath  my  arm,  shifted  my  umbrella, 
and  trudged  back  to  the  house. 

In  my  room  again,  first  of  all  I  locked  the  door:  ordi- 
narily the  door  was  never  locked  in  daytime.  But  this 
day  was  different.  Next  I  removed  everything  from  the 
reading  table  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  dragged  the 
table  near  the  window, •  where  I  could  have  better  light; 
but  not  too  near,  lest  somebody  (for  the  moment  I  forgot 
that  the  backyard's  only  occupants  were  birds)  should 
see  what  I  was  about  to  do ;  then  I  spread  out  the  first 
page  of  the  newspaper  on  the  table  in  front  of  me  and 
sat  down  to  my  search. 

I  looked  long  and  carefully  through  the  one  column 
and  a  half  of  personals:  but  "X.  Y. "  wasn't  there.  The 
personality  which,  masked  beneath  these  letters,  last  Sun- 
day, flashed  across  my  vision  from  some  realm  unknown, 
had  receded  to  that  realm  to-day,  and  I  was  none  the 
wiser.     Phrases  in  his  description  of  himself  recurred  to 

240 


MRS.   WELLS  ASSISTS 

memory,  because  of  the  sincerity  I  read  in  (or  into) 
them,  and  I  wondered  if  his  experiment  had  turned  out 
successfully. 

Truth  to  tell,  it  was  a  disappointment  not  to  find 
"X.  Y. "  where  I  expected  him.  All  the  week  I  had  been 
screwing  up  my  courage  to  write  to  him  to-day.  I  had 
even  decided  on  a  nom  de  plume  and  had  composed  (only 
to  reject)  half  a  dozen  different  versions  of  the  opening 
paragraph.  I  hadn't  rented  a  private  letter  box  as  yet: 
that  ordeal  was  so  terrible  that  I  was  putting  it  off  as 
long  as  possible.  But  I  had  resolved  to  write  the  letter 
to-day ;  and  to-morrow  morning  on  my  way  downtown, 
after  engaging  a  letter  box  in  a  stationery  shop  I  had  in 
mind,  to  add  a  postscript,  giving  the  address.  But  the 
plans  it  had  taken  all  my  courage  to  perfect  now  van- 
ished in  thin  air.     "X.  Y. "  wasn't  there! 

But  other  people  were — a  column  and  a  half  of  them ! 
Possibly  "X.  Y. "  himself,  under  another  name,  was  of 
the  company.  If  not,  what  did  it  signify?  I  knew  no 
more  of  him  than  of  any  stranger,  save  that  his  personal 
last  Sunday,  far  from  oifending  my  notions  of  propriety, 
commanded  my  respect:  there  might  be  others  equally 
desirable  to-day. 

If  there  were,  I  couldn't  find  them.  Perhaps  I  suffered 
from  defective  sight :  perhaps  my  vision  was  distorted  by 
the  gossip  I  had  heard.  But  all  I  saw  looked  sordid  and 
impossible. 

' '  But  there  must  be  something  else, ' '  I  cried,  "  if  I 
could  only  find  it!"  And  then  the  suggestion  came  to 
me  to  insert  a  personal  myself  in  next  Sunday's  issue. 

It  was  overpowering  at  first.  I  shrank  in  every  fiber 
from  all  that  it  implied.  But  I  remembered,  too,  my 
resolve  not  to  be  afraid  of  the  unknown :  to  work  out  my 
own  salvation.  "This  experiment  is  repugnant.  But  it 
involves  no  compromise  between  right  and  wrong,  no 
sacrifice  of  principle.  My  hesitation  proves  only  that  I 
am  a  slave  to  prejudice. " 

241 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"But  if  you  published  a  personal,"  argued  the  inner 
voice,  '  *  you  would  be  misinterpreted. ' ' 

' '  Possibly, ' '  I  answered.  ' '  But  that  is  nothing  new. 
Paul  Forsythe  was  mistaken  in  what  he  thought  at 
Albany.  Mr.  Vilmerding  misunderstood  me,  too.  A 
young  woman  alone  is  always  under  suspicion  in  the 
eyes  of  somebody. ' '  And  then  the  more  I  thought  of  it, 
the  more  it  seemed  to  me  that,  despite  the  apparent  con- 
tradiction at  first  sight,  there  was  really  less  danger  here 
than  elsewhere  of  being  misunderstood  by  any  given 
individual. 

The  mass  of  scoffers  would,  of  course,  look  upon  my 
personal — if  they  noticed  it  at  all — as  another  target  for 
their  scorn.  But  the  shafts  of  thoughtless  persons  (to 
whom,  furthermore,  my  identity  would  always  be  un- 
known) had  little  power  to  wound.  I  had  penetrated  too 
far  into  the  heart  of  suffering  to  be  very  much  disturbed 
by  a  mere  surface  scratch.  My  own  self-respect  was  the 
court  of  last  appeal :  that  did  not  condemn  me.  And  I 
felt  that  I  could  write  a  personal  so  instinct  with  sincer- 
ity and  truth  that,  should  it  chance  to  meet  the  eye  of 
one  endowed  with  the  same  qualities  himself,  it  would 
ring  true. 

1  he  tone  of  the  replies  (assuming  that  there  were  re- 
plies) would  in  each  instance  enable  me  to  form  some 
opinion  of  the  writer's  character.  If  that  opinion  war- 
ranted further  communication,  well  and  good :  if  not,  I 
should  be  no  worse  off  than  before;  for  an  evil-minded 
person  would  betray  himself  at  once  and  be  eliminated 
without  ever  meeting  me.  In  no  case  would  an  interview 
result,  until  (or  unless)  I  was  convinced  that  the  man  in 
question  would  not  misunderstand  the  kind  of  girl  I  was. 

I  winced  at  the  necessity  of  employing  the  stereotyped 
expression  "object,  matrimony,"  but  there  seemed  to  be 
no  help  for  it.  If  it  lacked  finesse,  so,  too — perhaps — 
did  it  afford  defense,  I  didn't  know:  but  I  reasoned  that 
the  right  kind  of  man  would  understand  the  attitude  of  a 

242 


MRS.   WELLS  ASSISTS 

girl  like  me.  I  could  imagine  having  a  genuine  liking 
and  respect  for  many  men  I  shouldn't  wish  to  marry,  and 
I  assumed  a  similar  point  of  view  in  man.  At  any  rate 
the  possibility  of  marriage  was  too  remote  to  be  consid- 
ered now.  If  this  method  should  result  in  my  meeting 
a  man  whom  I  could  respect,  a  man  whose  mentality  I 
liked,  the  acquaintance — no  matter  how  devoid  of  senti- 
ment— would  be  a  benefit.  But  dared  I  risk  the  experi- 
ment? 

Once  again  I  went  over  my  own  problem  from  the 
time  my  mother  died  and  I  was  left  an  unwelcome  child 
of  six  at  grandfather's;  I  relived  the  loneliness  of  those 
early  years  whose  only  solace  had  been  dreams  of  Ali- 
son, the  baby  sister  from  whom  I  was  kept  apart.  I 
knew  that,  when  at  fifteen  I  ran  away  from  grandfather's 
to  get  an  education  as  means  of  self-support,  it  was 
yearning  for  my  sister  that  made  me  choose  the  Univer- 
sity of  Manchester,  where  at  least  I  could  be  near  her. 
The  college  years,  with  all  their  agony,  came  back  to  me 
and  the  impulse  that  had  sent  me  to  New  York ;  one  by 
one,  the  eight  years  in  the  city  passed  in  procession 
now,  each  repeating  in  its  turn,  but  with  deepening  em- 
phasis, the  same  story  of  heartache.  I  was  as  familiar 
with  the  wreck  of  each  day's  wishes  as  with  the  setting 
of  the  sun. 

But  through  all  the  disillusions,  the  hope  concerning 
Alison  had  endured  until  her  letter  killed  it.  I  was  now 
at  the  end  of  my  resources :  if  I  rejected  the  experiment 
of  the  newspaper  personal,  what  remained  for  me  ? 

I  stared  straight  ahead  out  into  the  back  yard  of  the 
boarding  house,  where  everything  was  sodden,  silent, 
bare ;  always  the  rain  brushed  against  the  window  pane. 
With  its  insistent  buffeting,  it  seemed  to  echo  the  ques- 
tion that  was  beating  in  on  me:  "Are  you  going  to  run 
the  risk  ?    Are  you  ? ' ' 

Finally  I  answered  it.  "Yes,"  I  said,  taking  up  a 
pencil,  "I  am." 

243 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

It  was  not  easy  to  write  that  personal.  In  the  first 
place,  to  describe  myself  was  odious:  and  to  say  bluntly 
in  so  many  words  that  I  wanted  to  meet  a  man  of  such 
and  such  qualifications,  "object,  matrimony,"  was  like 
holding  up  one's  naked  soul  to  ridicule. 

Laboriously  I  would  compose  a  sentence,  write  it — 
and  then  rub  it  out ;  or  change  the  phrasing  here  and 
there;  scratch  out  an  adjective  for  which  I  had  searched 
long  and  insert  another  similar,  but  with  perhaps  a  shade 
of  difference  in  meaning.  I  can  see  myself  now  on  that 
rainy  Sunday  afternoon  (for  long  before  I  finished,  it 
was  afternoon;  unnoticed  came  and  went  the  dinner 
hour)  writing,  altering,  pondering,  hoping,  despairing. 

But  at  last  the  thing  was  done.  In  a  hand  that  I  en- 
deavored to  disguise  I  copied  it;  and  sat  there  looking  at 
it  and  thinking  of  the  morrow  when  I  must  take  it  to  the 
office  of  the  newspaper. 

So  absorbed  was  I  in  meditation,  that  a  knock  upon 
the  door  startled  me  and,  before  I  could  collect  my  far- 
roving  thoughts,  the  knock  was  repeated ;  hurriedly  catch- 
ing up  from  the  cozy  comer  couch  an  afghan,  I  threw 
it  over  the  littered  table  and  went  to  the  door.  I  tried 
to  undo  the  door  noiselessly:  the  very  fact  that  it  was 
locked  seemed  evidence  against  me.  What  had  I  been 
doing  that  I  must  lock  the  door? 

But  the  woman  in  the  hall  was  so  taken  up  with  the 
sense  of  the  unusual  in  her  own  appearance  unannounced, 
that  she  remarked  no  agitation  in  myself. 

"I  told  the  maid,"  she  began  apologetically,  "that 
you  were  not  expecting  me  and  that  I  preferred  to  send 
up  my  name.  But  she  insisted  that  you  were  at  home 
and  that  it  was  all  right  for  me  to  come  upstairs. ' ' 

"She's  a  new  maid,"  said  I,  "and  doesn't  know  my 
ways.  Neither  does  she  like  the  exercise  of  climbing 
stairs.  But  it's  all  right,  indeed  it  is,"  I  reassured  her, 
drawing  her  into  the  room,  "and  I'm  very  glad  to  see 
you — if  you'll  excuse  the  looks  of  things." 

244 


MRS.   WELLS  ASSISTS 

My  caller  was  Mrs.  Wells,  a  widow  a  little  over  forty, 
who  in  the  last  year  had  been  obliged  to  enter  on  a  life 
of  self-support ;  after  unsuccessful  efforts  to  find  employ- 
ment in  small  places,  she  had  come  to  New  York  six 
months  ago.  It  was  then  I  met  her,  when  she  registered 
in  the  employment  bureau  which  our  society  maintained. 
She  and  I  had  been  drawn  to  each  other  from  the  start 
and,  after  we  placed  her  as  governess  uptown,  she  called 
several  times  to  see  me,  both  in  the  office  and  at  my 
boarding  place.  But  all  through  the  spring  I  could  not 
rouse  myself  sufficiently  to  call  on  any  one. 

But  to-day  I  was  genuinely  glad  to  see  Mrs.  Wells.  I 
much  admired  the  bravery  with  which  she  had  met  re- 
verses and  adjusted  herself  to  a  new  way  of  life ;  there 
was  always,  every  time  we  met,  something  restful  to  my 
fevered  spirit  in  her  placidity.  And  yet  to-day  it  was 
not  her  placidity  that  impressed  me  most :  it  was  her 
longing  for  her  children,  the  suffering  that  separation 
from  them  caused.  There  were  two  children :  a  boy  and 
a  girl,  and  they  were  at  school  in  the  Middle  West. 
"Whatever  happens,  they  must  have  an  education,"  she 
declared. 

I  had  been  touched  before  by  what  she  told  me  of 
them:  to-day  she  brought  their  photographs.  As  we 
looked  at  them — a  sturdy  boy  of  twelve  and  a  dear  girl 
of  ten — and  she  told  me  of  her  hopes  and  fears,  the  differ- 
ence between  Mrs.  Wells's  existence  and  my  own  again 
came  home  to  me.  ' '  She  lives, ' '  I  thought.  ' '  I  only 
agonize. ' '  And  I  drank  in  every  word  she  said,  envying 
her  even  her  anxieties. 

"But,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  mustn't  run  on  like 
this.  What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all 
day?" 

Then  the  temptation  to  confide  in  Mrs.  Wells  sprang 
upon  me.  I  couldn't  have  told  one  who  knew  me  well, 
one  who  saw  me  every  day,  one  who  would  question  me. 
But  I  had  kept  things  to  myself  so  long,  and  I  was  at 

245 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

heart  so  frightened  by  the  course  I  had  decided  on,  that 
the  opportunity  to  see  the  situation  from  another  woman's 
point  of  view — an  older,  wiser  woman's,  too — appealed 
to  me.     But  the  habit  of  reticence  is  hard  to  overcome. 

I  hesitated ;  finally,  in  a  voice  that  trembled,  I  said : 
"I've — I've — been  writing  an  advertisement." 

Something  in  my  manner  or  my  tone  must  have 
struck  her,  for  she  turned  to  me  with  an  expression  of 
alarmed  alertness  in  her  eyes.     "An  advertisement?" 

I  pointed  to  the  first  page  of  the  newspaper.  "An 
advertisement  like  those — a  personal. ' ' 

"Child,"  she  gasped,  "are  you  crazy?" 

'  *  No, ' '  said  I,  * '  only  desperate. ' ' 

"But,  my  dear,"  she  sat  before  me  with  her  hands 
clasped,  her  eyes  fixed  on  mine,  "you  can't  do  a  thing 
like  that." 

I  threw  my  head  up  with  a  surge  of  pride.  ' '  Yes,  I 
can.     I've  thought  it  out. " 

Mrs.  Wells  made  no  reply.  She  was  waiting  for  me 
to  explain. 

Hot  words  of  justification  of  my  attitude,  of  resent- 
ment of  her  own,  leaped  to  my  lips,  but  something  kept 
me  from  uttering  them.  I  reminded  myself  that  I  had 
brooded  over  this  so  long  that  I  was  overwrought ;  I  tried 
to  see  things  through  her  eyes.  And  when  I  spoke  it 
was  with  no  trace  of  the  irritation  I  had  felt  at  what  she 
said. 

"Of  course,  it's  unconventional — and  I  ht£te  it,"  my 
voice  broke,  and  it  seemed  a  long  time  till  I  could  go  on 
again.  "But  what  am  I  to  do?  If  you  can  suggest  any- 
thing better,  I  shall  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  I 
have  tried  evenrthing  I  know — and  every  door  is  barred 
to  a  girl  alone.  I  must  have  something  new  to  think 
about;  there's  perhaps  one  chance  in  a  hundred  of  find- 
ing something  worth  while  there, ' '  I  pointed  to  the  news- 
paper, "and  I'm  going  to  risk  it,  for  I've  got  to  the  end 
of  my  rope." 

246 


MRS.   WELLS  ASSISTS 

I  paused  to  give  Mrs.  Wells  an  opportunity  to  speak, 
but  she  sat  silent,  wide-eyed,  watching  me. 

"You  are  horrified  at  the  idea  of  my  publishing  a 
personal. ' '  I  leaned  toward  her  in  an  intense  effort  at 
full  expression,  ' '  Of  course  you  are :  how  should  it  be 
otherwise?  Your  life  flowed  easily  and  naturally  in  con- 
ventional channels.  You  married  young  and  had  long 
years  of  happiness;  though  you  are  widowed  now,  noth- 
ing can  rob  you  of  the  past:  you  have  owned  your  own, 
you  have  your  memories.  And  you  have  your  children, 
too.  Can  you  imagine  what  it  would  be  like  never  to 
have  anything  a  woman  craves?  I've  never  had  a  home 
since  I  was  old  enough  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
word.  The  men  I  have  met  are  very  few,  and  nobody  I 
liked  liked  me — in  the  right  way.  All  my  life  I've  been 
alone,  and  the  one  hope  that  has  kept  me  up  through 
every  disappointment  is — "  I  threw  out  my  hands — 
'  *  is  gone  now. ' ' 

Tears  lay  very  near  the  surface,  but  I  fought  to  keep 
them  back.  But  when  I  saw  that  her  own  eyes  were 
wet,  when  she  put  her  arms  around  me  and  tried  to  com- 
fort me,  sympathy  broke  down  my  self-control. 

When  I  could  speak  again  I  told  her— told  her  of  Ali- 
son, beginning  with  the  yearning  for  my  sister  from  the 
first  day  I  understood  what  it  meant  that  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Coles  had  adopted  her  till  her  answer  to  my  letter  came 
a  few  months  ago ;  told  her  of  my  lonely  childhood  at 
grandfather's,  of  the  hunger  for  affection  strengthening 
with  the  years  of  Aunt  Jane,  and  my  pawning  the  watch 
and  starting  out  for  college ;  of  the  college  days  and  my 
idealizing  Philip — how  at  the  time  I  thought  it  was  a 
sin ;  of  going  away  from  Manchester  in  order  to  leave  the 
coast  clear  for  Alison,  and  at  nineteen  fixing  on  New 
York  as  a  Mecca  for  wanderers. 

I  told  her,  too,  of  Paul  Forsythe  and  of  Mr.  Vilmer- 
ding.  Indeed,  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  was  pleading  my 
own  case  before  this  woman,  who  was  judge  and  jurv 

247 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

both.  I  liked  her  and  couldn't  bear  to  have  her  misun- 
derstand the  motive  for  the  daring  deed  I  was  determined 
on.  Furthermore,  I  felt  she  was  my  only  friend:  but 
that  unless  I  told  her  the  whole  truth  she,  whose  own 
life  had  been  so  different,  would  not  understand.  And 
so  it  was  that  I  spared  her — and  myself — no  detail  of 
the  long  years. 

"It  all  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  I  said  at  last. 
"What  I  wanted  I  could  not  get — ever — anywhere." 

As  we  sat  together,  Mrs.  Wells  and  I,  the  room  had 
darkened  in  the  rainy  twilight;  and  now  the  twilight 
deepened  into  night.  Outside,  the  rain  was  falling 
faster  than  before ;  we  could  hear  its  rhythmic  patter  on 
the  tin  roof  of  the  extension.  But  the  room  was  very 
still. 

I  rose,  stumbled  against  a  hassock,  fumbled  for  the 
matches,  and  lighted  the  gas.  Mrs.  Wells  walked  rapidly 
to  where  I  stood,  took  my  face  between  her  hands,  and 
kissed  me. 

* '  Any  comfort  you  can  find  belongs  to  you, ' '  she  said. 
"Whatever  you  think  best  to  do,  I'll  help  you  all  I  can." 

"Thank  you,"  I  replied. 

"But  I'm  afraid,"  she  hesitated  a  little.  "I'm  afraid 
you  won't  find  any  one  who  looks  on  that,"  indicating 
the  personal  column,  ' '  as  you  do. ' ' 

' '  Certainly  I  never  shall  unless  I  try, ' '  was  my  re- 
joinder. "But  why  should  we  assume  that  I'm  the  only 
decent-minded  individual  who  has  read  that  page  to-day? 
That  all  the  rest  are  swindlers  and  adventurers?  My 
situation  is  unfortunate,  but  I  don't  believe  it  is  unique. 
Naturally  one  can't  collect  statistics  about  such  a  thing. 
But  there  must  be  people  in  the  world  like  me,  who  are 
cut  off  from  the  ordinary  avenues  of  communication  and 
try  this  method  of  securing  a  new  interest.  If  I  could 
meet  a  decent  man  whose  mentality  I  liked,  the  acquaint- 
ance at  this  crisis  in  my  life  would  be  a  godsend,  whether 
a  bishop  introduced  us  in  the  shadow  of  a  church,  or 

248 


MRS.   WELLS  ASSISTS 

whether  we  met  there."  Again  I  indicated  the  "per- 
sonal" column  of  the  newspaper.  But  I  needn't  have 
singled  it  out — the  whole  room  seemed  to  be  full  of  it 
"The  thing  itself  is  right  enough.  It's  the  idea  of  evil 
people  read  into  it  that  makes  me  sick  at  heart.  How- 
ever, that's  part  of  the  price  I  have  to  pay.  And  the 
price  I  pay  is  measured  by  my  need. ' ' 

The  relief  of  opening  my  heart  to  Mrs.  Wells,  the 
novelty  of  sympathy,  the  assurance  that  she  would  help, 
all  put  new  life  into  me.  The  external  aspect  of  the 
situation  had  vanished  for  us  both :  only  the  essence  really 
concerned  us  now,  I  thought.  And  yet  Mrs.  Wells's  next 
remark  had  to  do  with  unpleasant  realities. 

"Just  how  do  you  propose  to  do  it,  may  I  ask?" 

I  handed  her  a  sheet  of  paper.  "I  have  written 
this,"  I  said,  assuming  an  air  as  matter-of-fact  as  possi- 
ble. "To-morrow  morning  I  shall  take  it  to  the  office  of 
the  newspaper.  I  suppose  it  will  be  like  any  other  ad- 
vertisement ;  that  is,  when  I  pay  the  money,  they  will 
give  me  a  ticket  entitling  me  to  receive  the  answers — if 
there  are  any — to  the  advertisement.  Of  course,  they'll 
give  the  thing  a  number  or  a  letter  or  something  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  all  the  rest. ' ' 

Mrs.  Wells  had  been  reading  it.  "They  won't  need 
to,"  she  said  as  she  gave  it  back  to  me.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve they  ever  had  one  like  it. ' ' 

"What  makes  you  think  so?  Did  you  ever  read  a 
personal  before?" 

"No,"  she  admitted;  and  despite  the  gravity  of  the 
moment  we  both  smiled. 

"Well,  then,"  I  retorted,  as  lightly  as  I  could,  "you 
really  don't  know  anything  about  it. ' '  But  the  situation 
was  too  serious  for  make-believe ;  solemnly  I  faced  her. 
"No  more  do  I  know  what  is  before  me.  But  I  know 
what  is  behind.     And  that  gives  me  courage. ' ' 

"There's  one  thing  I  insist  upon,"  said  Mrs.  Wells, 
after  a  long  pause.  "Promise  me  you'll  do  just  as  I  say 
17  249 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

in  this. "  She  laid  her  hand  on  mine  that  was  clenched 
upon  the  table. 

' '  I  will  if  I  can,  *  *  said  I.  ' '  You  know  how  I  appre- 
ciate your  kindness  and  sympathy. ' ' 

"Then  prove  it  by  letting  me  attend  to  that  personal. 
I'm  not  going  to  have  you — a  young  girl  like  you — 
carrying  it  to  the  office  of  the  newspaper  yourself. " 

"But  I'm  not  a  young  girl.  I'm  twenty-seven  years 
old.     And  I  shall  wear  a  veil — a  thick  veil. ' ' 

"No,  you're  not  going  there,"  she  announced  with 
quiet  authority. 

"Do  you  think  I'd  let  you  go  in  my  place?"  I  burst 
out  hotly.  "It's  dear  of  you  to  wish  to  spare  me,  but 
I'll  take  my  own  medicine.  I  refuse  to  sacrifice  a 
friend." 

"There  is  no  question  of  sacrifice,"  she  said.  "I'm 
not  telling  you  how  it  will  be  done,  nor  who  is  going  to 
doit." 

I  shot  a  glance  at  her. 

"Oh,  never  fear.  The  advertisement  shall  be  in- 
serted ;  and  without  your  identity  being  known  by  any 
one.  And  I'll  bring  you  the  ticket  myself.  I'm  older 
and  more  worldly  wise  than  you.  But  you're  to  ask  no 
questions.  Remember  the  fairy  godmother.  She  can 
accomplish  miracles  when  mortals  are  obedient,  but  her 
wrath  is  terrible. ' ' 

I  still  held  the  paper  in  my  hand  and  glanced  wonder- 
ingly  from  it  to  her. 

"Don't  you  trust  me?"  smiled  Mrs.  Wells. 

"Yes." 

"Then  give  me  the  advertisement  and  some  money, 
and  be  done  with  it. ' ' 

"How  much  money?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  it  will  cost.  Suppose 
you  give  me  a  five  dollar  bill,  and  if  it's  more  or  less  we 
can  make  it  right  afterward.  I'll  bring  you  the  ticket 
to-morrow  evening,  and  I  can  tell  you  then  whether  I  can 

250 


MRS.   WELLS  ASSISTS 

bring  the  answers  to  you,  too,  after  the  advertisement  is 
published.  I  suspect,"  she  paused  a  little,  "that  we'll 
be  in  the  country  by  next  week.  Mrs.  Gates"  (the 
woman  by  whom  she  was  employed  as  governess)  "said 
she  thought  we'd  get  away  the  last  of  this  week.  In  that 
case,"  she  looked  at  me  very  thoughtfully,  "this  is  what 
you  do,  say  the  Saturday  afternoon  after  this  is  pub- 
lished.    Go  to  a  telegraph  office  near  the Building, 

and  engage  a  responsible  messenger;  give  him  the  en- 
velope containing  the  ticket  and  he  will  bring  you  the 
replies.  Under  no  circumstances  are  you  yourself  to  set 
foot  inside  the  office  of  the  newspaper. ' ' 

"But  why,"  I  asked,  "can't  I  hire  a  messenger  to 
present  the  advertisement  in  the  first  place?" 

"Didn't  I  say  you  were  to  ask  no  questions?  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  obey.    Remember  the  fairy  godmother. ' ' 

"Well,"  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  gratitude 
as  I  handed  her  the  paper  and  a  five  dollar  bill,  "you've 
lifted  a  millstone  from  my  neck.  I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you. ' ' 

"I  don't  want  any  thanks,"  she  said.  "I  want  an 
Amsterdam  Avenue  car  as  soon  as  I  can  get  it.  Good-by 
and  good  luck,  my  dear.  You  deserve  a  better  fate  than 
this. ' '  And  tucking  the  advertisement  and  the  money  in 
her  pocket-book,  she  left  me  with  the  feeling  that  I  had 
had  a  visit  from  a  fairy  godmother  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 
THE  ANSWERS  ''MARGARET"   RECEIVED 

MRS.  WELLS  was  as  good  as  her  word.  Monday 
evening  she  brought  me  a  ticket  which  entitled 
me,  on  presenting  it,  to  receive  the  answers  to 
the  advertisement  signed  "Margaret" — the  name  I  had 
assumed — in  the  New  York Sunday  issue  of  June  — . 

When  the  day  came  I  secured  the  paper  early,  and 
turned  to  the  personal  column,  my  heart  beating  fast. 
There  it  was,  "Margaret's"  advertisement,  half  way 
down  the  page.  With  blazing  cheeks  I  read  it,  then  took 
up  another  section  of  the  newspaper.  But  every  page, 
every  paragraph,  seemed  to  wear  a  conscious  air.  I 
couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  any  of  that  newspaper,  so  I 
tucked  it  all  in  a  bureau  drawer  and  tried  to  forget  that 
it  was  there. 

My  own  newspaper — which  did  not  publish  personals 
— I  read  twice  through,  as  if  to  atone  for  my  lapse  from 
loyalty.  Now  that  the  thing  was  done,  now  that  I  had 
published  a  personal  and  had  hidden  in  a  bureau  drawer 
the  paper  that  contained  it,  I  was  determined  to  ignore 
the  incident.  And,  fortunately,  Mrs.  Wells  understood 
my  feeling  and  ignored  it,  too ;  she  was  not  the  kind  of 
woman  to  make  one  repent  a  confidence.  On  bringing 
me  the  ticket  she  had  said:  "You  were  a  good  girl. 
You  didn't  ask  any  questions.  And  I  sha'n't  ask  any, 
either.    But  anything  you  tell  me  will  be  safe  with  me. ' ' 

It  turned  out  that  I  went  myself  for  the  answers  to 
the  advertisement,  following  Mrs.  Wells's  advice  in  all 
particulars.     I  shall  never  forget  my  feeling  as,  closely 

252 


THE  ANSWERS  "MARGARET"   RECEIVED 

veiled  and  very  nervous,  I  walked  into  a  telegraph  office 
and  asked  for  ' '  a  reliable  messenger. ' ' 

"That's  the  only  kind  we  have,"  snarled  the  man  at 
the  desk. 

"Well" — I  was  very  red  and  flustered  underneath  my 
veil,  and  anxious,  too,  to  mollify  the  man — "I  only  mean 
that  I  don't  want  a  small  boy." 

He  turned  to  a  row  of  messengers  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  and  signaled  one  of  them,  who  may  have  been 
seventeen  years  old.  The  youth  eyed  me  with  frank 
curiosity  as  I  disclosed  the  errand.  "I'll  wait  for  you 
here,"  I  said  with  all  the  dignity  I  could  command. 
*  *  Please  be  quick. ' ' 

He  set  out  at  once,  and  I  prepared  to  occupy  myself 
doing  nothing  until  his  return.  But  I  felt  ill  at  ease ; 
and  conspicuous  as  well,  doing  nothing  there  in  broad 
daylight,  with  doors  and  windows  open  wide  and  the 
crowd  surging  up  and  down  Broadway. 

I  sat  on  the  edge  of  my  chair,  listened  to  the  clanging 
of  the  cable  cars  outside  and  the  clicking  of  the  wires 
indoors,  watched  the  clock  and  pulled  my  veil  down 
closer.  As  time  went  on,  I  wondered  if  the  boy  had  run 
away — or  met  with  an  accident — or  given  the  letters  to 
the  police?  A  thousand  terrifying  possibilities  rushed 
pellmell  through  my  mind.  In  imagination  I  saw  my- 
self arrested  and  taken  before  the  sergeant — in  news- 
papers I  had  read  of  "the  sergeant  at  the  desk" — who 
was  commanding  me  to  tell  my  name  and  where  I  lived. 

"But  I  won't  tell  him,  I  won't,"  I  repeated  to  myself. 
And  the  dots  and  dashes  that  the  operator,  just  across 
the  aisle,  was  clicking  off  at  intervals,  echoed  my  denial 
with  fitful  emphasis. 

The  thought  came  over  me,  "What  if  somebody  I 
know  should  happen  to  come  in?"  I  knew  very  few 
people  in  New  York,  but  I  had  always  believed  that,  if 
there  were  one  individual  on  earth  whom  one  didn't  wish 
to  see,  that  individual  would  appear  at  the  most  incon- 

253 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

venient  time.  I  glanced  apprehensively  toward  the 
door:  there  was  nobody  there — yet.  I  wished  I  could 
sink  through  the  floor. 

At  last  I  heard  the  shuffling  sound  of  feet,  and  looked 
up  to  see  the  shambling  figure  of  the  seventeen-year-old 
boy  making  his  way  to  me.  I  rose  and  took  a  step  or 
two  to  meet  him.  He  carried  two  large  packages  of  let- 
ters tied  together  by  a  string :  and  as  he  handed  them  to 
me,  he  grinned. 

Then  removing  his  cap  he  took  from  it  a  book,  stuck 
out  a  pencil,  and  pointed  to  a  place  for  me  to  write. 
What  I  wrote  I  do  not  know,  save  that  it  was  not  my 
name:  all  I  remember  distinctly  after  the  boy's  return 
was  his  grin  as  he  handed  me  the  letters. 

As  I  started  for  the  door,  I  wrapped  the  letters  in  an 
afternoon  newspaper  I  had  brought  with  me.  The  bun- 
dle felt  as  heavy  as  lead,  and  I  was  weak  and  faint. 
But  with  that  terrible  feeling  that  there  was  some  one  in 
pursuit,  I  hurried  to  the  nearest  Elevated  station  and 
went  home.  It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  I  had  left 
the  office  earlier  than  usual. 

When  I  reached  the  house  I  opened  the  door  of  my 
own  room  cautiously,  as  if  I  feared  an  enemy  would 
spring  out  at  me ;  but  of  course  nobody  was  there.  I 
stepped  inside,  looked  around  despairingly,  held  out  the 
letters  at  arm's  length,  and  then  let  them  fall.  Their 
dull  thud,  as  they  struck  the  floor,  seemed  the  death- 
knell  of  my  hopes.     And  I  burst  into  tears. 

In  vain  I  told  myself  as  I  endeavored  to  reason  away 
my  grief  that  it  was  weak  and  silly  to  be  so  upset:  I  had 
known  beforehand  that  such  an  unconventional  step 
would  involve  distress.  * '  But  a  drowning  man  does  not 
mind  the  discomfort  of  being  wet,"  I  said.  "Neither 
should  I  be  disturbed  by  appearances.  I  have  done  no 
wrong.     This  is  my  last  resort.     If  it  fails " 

But  I  dared  not  pursue  this  train  of  thought ;  instead, 
by  and  by,  I  picked  up  the  letters.     There  were  upward 

254 


THE  ANSWERS  "MARGARET"   RECEIVED 

of  fifty  in  the  two  packages  and  before  opening  a  single 
one  I  sorted  them  into  two  piles,  classing  them  from  sur- 
face indications  on  the  envelopes  as  "Possible"  or  "Im- 
possible. ' '  When  I  had  run  them  through  in  this  way — 
with  all  but  half  a  dozen  in  the  second  pile — I  began  gin- 
gerly to  open  them  and  read. 

There  was  one  letter  I  never  shall  forget;  simply  from 
the  appearance  of  the  envelope  I  had  placed  it  in  the  pile 
of  the  "Impossible. "  Yet  I  believe  that  the  sincerity  of 
the  man  who  wrote  it  was  equal  to  my  own. 

He  said  in  effect  that  he  was  poor,  and  that  in  early 
life  he  had  been  denied  the  advantages  of  an  education ; 
that  he  worked  in  a  machine  shop  now,  but  had  been  at- 
tending night  school  for  two  winters  past.  Aside  from 
this,  he  was  working  on  a  patent ;  and  he  knew,  he  said, 
that  he  could  bring  it  to  perfection,  could  win  fame  and 
money,  too,  if — if  he  only  had  some  one  who  believed  in 
him!  If  he  could  have  some  good  woman's  sjonpathy, 
perhaps  in  time  her  affection — which  he  would  try  to  de- 
serve, he  said — it  would  change  the  world  for  him.  But 
he  was  all  alone. 

The  paper  on  which  this  was  written  was  cheap,  and 
it  was  not  overclean;  the  words  were  not  all  spelled 
right;  the  attempts  at  punctuation  were  pathetic;  the 
handwriting  was  cramped,  like  that  of  a  child.  To  com- 
pose the  letter  had  evidently  been  a  work  of  time  and 
effort.  He  said  he  had  read  my  personal  every  day  since 
Sunday,  and  he  asked  if  I  would  write  to  him.  The  envel- 
ope bore  the  postmark  of  the  day  before. 

It  is  easy  enough  for  cynics  to  sneer  at  such  a  story : 
just  as  it  is  easy  enough  for  them  to  sneer  at  mine.  But 
as  I  read  that  poor,  blotted,  misspelled  scrawl,  I  could 
see  the  man  who  wrote  it ;  and  I  believed  every  word  he 
said.  At  least  I  believed  that  he  believed  it  all.  I  un- 
derstood his  need,  my  heart  ached  for  him  and  for  all 
desolate  creatures  like  him  and  like  myself.  But — God 
forgive  me  for  a  coward — I  couldn't  write  to  him. 

255 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

It  is  needless  to  linger  long  on  those  letters  as  a 
whole :  some  of  the  writers  took  a  flippant  tone,  others 
were  plainly  curious,  others  frank  in  the  extreme.  Sev- 
eral men  admitted  they  were  married,  but ' '  trusted  that 
would  be  no  bar  to  our  meeting,"  three  of  them,  I 
remember,  said  their  wives  would  be  away  all  summer. 
There  were  communications  from  other  places  than  New 
York;  some  from  Canada.  To  my  surprise  there  were 
letters  ostensibly  from  women  who  declared  they  were 
looking  for  a  congenial  woman  friend  and  thought,  from 
the  tone  of  my  personal,  that  a  meeting  might  be  advan- 
tageous to  us  both.     What  that  meant  I  never  knew. 

Gradually  the  half  dozen  letters  which  at  first  sight  of 
the  envelopes  I  had  laid  aside  as  "possible, "  dwindled 
down  to  one.     But  that  one  I  liked  very  much. 

It  was  written  on  the  thin,  gray  paper  one  sees  so 
much  abroad :  the  handwriting  was  small  and  fine  and 
had  much  individuality.  There  was  scarcely  an  "i" 
dotted  or  a  "t"  crossed  in  the  whole  of  the  three  and  a 
half  closely  written  pages,  but  it  was  very  legible. 

After  saying  at  the  start  that  to  describe  himself  was 
"like  a  tug  o'  war  between  self-conceit  and  modesty, 
with  the  odds  on  self-conceit,"  the  writer  admitted  that, 
as  it  was  the  only  means  at  his  disposal,  he  would  better 
plunge  in  at  once  and  have  it  over  with.  Accordingly, 
without  statistics,  without  anything  so  crude  as  weight 
and  height  and  age,  without  even  telling  me  the  color  of 
his  eyes,  he  pictured  for  me  a  most  attractive  man. 

But  more  than  what  he  said,  the  way  he  said  it 
appealed  to  me.  He  told  me  he  was  a  Harvard  graduate; 
that  he  had  studied  at  Johns  Hopkins,  too,  and  took  his 
Ph.D.  in  Germany;  that  he  was  an  expert  chemist,  and 
had  lived  much  abroad.  Indeed,  his  letter  abounded  in 
references  to  Germany  and  his  studies  there. 

_  Coming  back  to  America,  he  gave  me  to  understand 
that  he  had  inherited  a  little  property  from  his  mother, 
whose  name  was   '  *  Margaret. "     "  Indeed,    it  was  the 

256 


THE  ANSWERS  ''MARGARET"  RECEIVED 

name  that  first  attracted  me  to  your  personal, ' '  he  said. 
"And  then  when  I  had  read  it,  I  was  glad  that  you  were 
Margaret. ' ' 

He  went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  was  alone. 

"I  haven't  minded  it  so  very  much  till  lately,  I've 
been  so  taken  up  with  work.  But  life  is  something 
more  than  work,  after  all,  and  if  I  could  find  the  right 
kind  of  girl  for  a  friend,  it  would  mean  a  lot  to  me. 
And  I  would  try  to  make  it  mean  a  lot  to  her.  The  world 
is  full  of  girls,  of  course ;  but  sixteen  yards  of  blue  mus- 
lin and  a  hand-painted  fan  (with  a  face  to  match)  don't 
interest  me  much.  Someway  I  imagine  you  are  differ- 
ent. I  suppose  I  am  selfish :  all  men  are,  I  have  been 
told.  But  if  you'll  only  be  unselfish  enough  to  answer 
this,  I'll  try  to  convince  you  that  I  have  a  few  good 
qualities. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"William  B.  Ellery, 
"General  Delivery, 
"New  York  City." 

The  idea  of  sending  a  letter  to  the  General  Delivery 
was  not  agreeable.  But  I  remembered  that,  like  myself, 
this  man  was  running  a  risk.  It  was  not  for  me  to  raise 
objections  now. 

The  next  day — it  was  again  Sunday — I  wrote  to  him, 
and  Monday  morning  on  my  way  downtown  engaged  a 
private  letter  box  in  a  stationery  shop,  as  I  had  planned 
to  do.  The  ordeal  was  not  so  terrible  as  I  had  imagined 
it  would  be.  After  the  messenger's  grin  in  the  telegraph 
office  Saturday  afternoon,  I  fancy  almost  anything  would 
have  seemed  insignificant  by  comparison.  And  truly,  by 
the  matter-of-factness  of  the  girl  in  the  stationery  shop, 
I  might  have  been  purchasing  Spencerian  copy-books. 

Having  rented  the  letter  box,  I  tripped  out  hurriedly 
and  in  a  drug  store  near  by,  where  there  was  a  substation 
of  the  post  office,  I  borrowed  a  pen  and  added  the  address. 

257 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

I  was  still  *  *  Margaret, ' '  but  I  took  a  surname  now. 

For  a  month  the  correspondence  continued  almost 
daily  without  my  ever  seeing  him.  In  an  early  letter  he 
inquired  "  if  it  would  be  possible  for  us  to  meet. '  *  But  I 
said,  "Not  yet."  And  he  acquiesced,  assuring  me  that 
he  was  mine  to  command  whenever  I  saw  fit. 

Much  as  I  disliked  sending  letters  to  the  General  De- 
livery, I  wanted  to  be  sure  in  my  own  mind  before  meet- 
ing him  that  he  would  not  misunderstand  the  kind  of 
girl  I  was.  After  my  experience,  I  was  disposed  to  be 
fearful  of  all  men ;  then,  too,  the  charm  of  the  correspond- 
ence was  increasing  all  the  time,  and  I  was  in  no  haste  to 
break  the  spell.  I  knew  that  he  was  on  his  mettle  now: 
it  might  be  different  after  we  had  met. 

Early  in  the  correspondence  I  discovered  that  he,  too, 
was  an  enthusiast  of  the  newspaper  I  had  read  ever  since 
my  sophomore  year  in  college ;  after  that  we  compared 
notes  on  the  "yams"  and  discussed  the  editorials;  his 
humorous  references  to  politics  and  his  running  com- 
mentary on  city  and  national  events  were  full  of  interest 

Some  of  the  letters  I  received  were  mailed  in  Brook- 
lyn, others  in  Jersey  City,  still  others  in  New  York. 
None  of  them  gave  an  address ;  few  were  ever  dated ;  or 
if  dated  it  would  be  in  some  such  way  as  this:  "the 
third — or  tenth — or  thirtieth"  or  "some  time  in  the 
Spring. ' '  But  for  the  most  part  there  was  no  attempt ; 
he  said  he  preferred  to  take  no  chances  about  hitting  the 
date  right,  but  would  put  the  responsibility  up  to  the 
postmark.  "It's  the  only  way  I  have  of  getting  any- 
thing out  of  the  government, ' '  he  explained. 

Once  he  wrote  that  he  and  his  fountain  pen  were 
occupying  "one  of  those  foolish  chairs  at  the  street 
comer.  In  other  words,  I'm  having  my  shoes  shined. 
Two  dagoes  are  vieing  with  each  other  to  see  which  can 
get  through  first,  so  you  won't  mind  if  the  writing  is 
queerer  and  crookeder  than  ever,  will  you?  I've  got  to 
catch  a  train."     Sometimes  the  letters  would  be  long; 

258 


THE  ANSWERS  "MARGARET"   RECEIVED 

again  on  half  a  sheet  of  paper  the  man  would  say:  "I'm 
up  to  my  ears  in  work.     Will  you  pardon  a  note?" 

But  no  matter  how  brief  the  letter,  it  always  contained 
something  worth  remembering,  something  said  as  no  one 
else  would  say  it,  some  characteristic  turn  of  phrase, 
some  whimsicality  buried  in  the  queer  handwriting 
where  the  "i"  was  never  dotted  and  the  "t"  was  never 
crossed. 

Soon  I  was  measuring  time  by  the  arrival  of  those 
thin,  foreign-looking  envelopes  that  brought  always, 
whence  I  did  not  know,  the  atmosphere  of  charm,  and, 
as  well,  the  air  of  mystery  which,  they  say,  we  women 
like. 


CHAPTER   XLV 
"WILLIAM  B.   ELLERY,   GENERAL  DELIVERY" 

BUT  by  and  by,  weary  of  the  subterfuge  of  the  pri- 
vate letter  box,  weary  of  the  General  Delivery,  I 
was  ready  to  unmask.  I  was  convinced  that  he 
would  not  misunderstand  me.  In  one  letter  I  told  him 
so,  gave  him  my  name  and  address,  and  added  that,  if 
he  cared  to  call  the  following  Thursday  evening,  I  should 
be  glad  to  see  him. 

He  replied  that  it  was  his  misfortune  to  be  obliged  to 
go  out  of  town  on  Thursday ;  but  if  the  invitation  held 
over  till  Saturday  evening,  he  would  gladly  avail  himself 
of  it.  Would  I  please  send  him  word  to  the  General  De- 
livery, New  York,  not  later  than  Saturday  forenoon? 
And  he  tucked  on  this  postscript:  "When  I  see  you,  I'll 
explain. ' ' 

I  liked  the  look  of  that :  it  seemed  to  indicate  that  he 
appreciated  my  feeling  about  the  General  Delivery.  In 
reality,  I  told  myself — to  forestall  possible  disappoint- 
ment later  on — I  knew  nothing  of  him  save  that  he  wrote 
the  most  delightful  letters  I  had  ever  read.  I  wondered 
if  he  would  send  up  his  card  Saturday  evening  with  his 
real  name  on  it?  Or  had  he  told  me  his  real  name  at 
first?  For  an  instant  I  regretted  that  I  had  not  said 
something  on  that  point. 

But  it  was  a  point  so  delicate !  How  could  I  refer  to 
it?  Surely  a  man  with  so  much  discernment  didn't  need 
a  hint.  In  his  heart  he  must  abhor  disguise  just  as  much 
as  I.     Then  I  reread  the  postscript:  "When  I  see  you  I'll 

260 


''WILLIAM  B.  ELLERY,  GENERAL  DELIVERY" 

explain."  Of  course  it  would  be  all  right;  and,  exami- 
ning the  letter  in  my  hand,  I  wondered  for  the  hundredth 
time  how  he  made  those  funny  little  curlicues  on  his 
capitals. 

Indeed,  I  wondered  about  many  things:  everywhere, 
at  the  office,  in  the  street,  in  the  Elevated  train,  in  my 
room,  I  was  turning  matters  over  in  my  mind.  If  Mrs. 
Wells  had  been  at  hand,  I  should  doubtless  have  con- 
ferred with  her.  But  the  family  by  whom  she  was  em- 
ployed as  governess  had  left  the  city  weeks  before,  and 
she  was  with  them. 

It  was  now  two  days  before  Satiu"day;  and  I  was 
afraid.  I  began  to  distrust  the  evidence  of  the  letters 
themselves.  How  did  I  know  that  the  man  who  signed 
them  had  written  them  ?  He  had  copied  them,  of  course ; 
the  handwriting  was  at  all  times  the  same.  But  I  had 
no  guarantee  that  the  composition  was  his  own,  or  that 
he  was  telling  me  the  truth. 

It  might  be  a  put-up-job  on  the  part  of  several  young 
men  who  were  looking  for  amusement,  and  were  passing 
my  replies,  as  they  had  passed  the  personal  at  first,  from 
hand  to  hand.  Or  it  might  well  be  that  some  poor, 
ignorant  fellow,  or  some  criminal,  perhaps,  had  found 
another  man,  who  was  never  to  appear,  to  write  the  letters 
for  him.  Some  ghastly  surprise  might  be  in  store  for 
me  on  Saturday. 

Perhaps  this  matter  of  the  letters  was  a  deep-laid 
plan  of  the  police.  I  had  heard  that  spasmodically  efforts 
were  made  to  suppress  personal  advertisements;  and  it 
might  be  that  I,  who  never  in  my  life  before  had  defied 
any  of  the  conventions  of  society,  who  had  entered  on 
this  step  only  after  long  consideration,  I,  whose  motive 
was  as  honest  as  the  day,  was  to  pay  the  penalty.  I 
understood  that  at  times  the  police  had  a  passion  for 
arresting  somebody,  anybody,  to  satisfy  public  sentiment. 
There  must  be  some  scapegoat.  Might  it  not  be  I  ?  My 
imagination   even  pictured  the  headlines  in  the  news- 

261 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

papers,  "Settlement  Worker  a  Fraud!  In  League  with 
Criminals!  Charity  only  a  Cloak!"  And  I  surmised 
that  certain  persons  in  the  boarding  house  from  whom  I 
had  held  aloof  would  rejoice  in  my  downfall. 

In  imagination  I  endured  all  the  humiliation  of  dis- 
grace. I  have  read  of  the  contrition  that  the  guilty  feel. 
I  wonder  does  it  far  surpass  the  repentance  of  the  inno- 
cent? No  words  can  tell  how  I  wanted  to  believe  in 
"William  B.  Ellery. "  His  letters  had  come  to  mean  so 
much  to  me:  I  needed  them  so  sorely  that  I  couldn't 
escape  the  fear  that  just  because  I  needed  them  I  couldn't 
have  them ;  that  they  were  not  genuine. 

What  then  was  my  emotion,  on  that  Saturday  even- 
ing, when  I  was  looking  forward  to  my  first  glimpse  of 
the  man  who  sent  the  letters?  I  cannot  describe  it:  I 
can  only  say  that  every  thought  I  had  was  in  very  truth 
a  prayer. 

My  room — as  has  been  told  before — ^was  large  and 
fitted  up  as  a  sitting-room.  The  landlady  herself  had 
pointed  out  its  attractiveness  as  a  place  to  entertain  my 
friends :  girls  from  the  settlement  had  been  there,  and  at 
various  times  different  people — married  couples  and  sin- 
gle women — from  the  boarding  house.  But  this  was  the 
first  time  I  expected  a  young  man.  "Young?"  I  didn't 
even  know  that  he  was  young :  I  knew  that  he — or  some- 
body— wrote  charming  letters.  Beyond  that  I  was  at 
sea. 

I  wore  my  business  suit  down  to  dinner  Saturday, 
because  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  appeared  in  the  new  gown 
that  had  just  come  home  it  would  excite  remark ;  some 
one  at  the  table  would  be  sure  to  ask  what  I  was  so 
dressed  up  for  ?    Was  I  expecting  company  ? 

"But  what  would  they  say,"  ran  an  undercurrent 
through  my  mind,  * '  if  they  knew  that  a  man  whom  I 
have  never  seen,  to  whom  I've  never  been  introduced,  is 
coming  to  call  on  me?"  At  this  thought,  as  I  rose  to 
leave  the  room,  I  blushed  deeper  than  before. 

262 


^'WILLIAM  B.  ELLERY,  GENERAL  DELIVERY" 

"Somebody's  lookin'  pretty  fine  to-night,"  com- 
mented the  young  man  who  sat  opposite  me. 

"Well,  she  isn't  looking  at  you,  at  any  rate, "  snapped 
out  the  middle-aged  woman  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 
And  I  heard  her  say,  as  I  started  up  the  stairs :  "  If  that 
girl  ever  takes  up  with  anybody,  it'll  be  a  gentleman." 

"Is  he  going  to  be  a  gentleman?"  I  thought,  "or  is 
he  going  to  be  a  thug  ?    I  shall  find  out  pretty  soon. ' ' 

Excitedly  I  put  on  my  new  gown ;  then  scrutinized  the 
reflection  in  the  looking-glass.  Even  my  solicitude  could 
find  no  flaw  in  the  dressmaker's  work;  and  I  decided  this 
was  the  prettiest,  the  most  becoming  gown,  that  I  had 
ever  had.     Then  I  sat  down  to  wait. 

I  had  no  idea  what  time  to  look  for  Mr.  Ellery ;  and 
every  time  the  door-bell  rang  I  started,  and  listened  for 
the  servant's  step  out  in  the  hall.  I  heard  it  frequently 
as  he  went  to  carry  messages  to  others;  but  he  didn't 
come  to  my  room  till  he  brought  the  ice  water.  It  was 
then  twenty  minutes  after  eight. 

Although  it  was  midsummer,  we  were  just  then  hav- 
ing disagreeable,  cold  weather.  People  in  the  mountains 
were  shivering,  so  the  papers  said,  and  even  in  New  York 
at  night  blankets  were  acceptable.  When  I  fastened  a 
blind  that  had  been  flapping  disconsolately  in  the  wind, 
I  noticed  that  it  had  come  on  to  rain :  a  cold,  drizzling 
rain.  From  every  sign  outside  it  might  have  been  a 
night  in  March. 

I  tried  to  read,  but  the  words  danced  up  and  down 
and  I  couldn't  follow  them,  so  I  shut  my  eyes  and  began 
to  count  up  to  one  hundred.  But  it  went  very  slowly, 
for  I  kept  thinking,  "What  if  he  shouldn't  come  at  all?" 
Twice  I  opened  my  eyes  to  see  what  time  it  was ;  then, 
with  a  sigh,  started  in  to  count  again. 

By  and  by  the  door-bell  rang  once  more,  a  loud,  clear 
ring;  and  presently  I  heard  somebody  coming  up  the 
stairs ;  then  there  was  a  tapping  at  my  door. 

I  made  myself  go  very  slowly  to  answer  it.     Samuel, 
263 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

the  servant,  stood  there;  and  he  said,  "Mr.  Ellery  is 
here  to  see  you. ' ' 

Oh,  how  keenly,  but  also  guardedly,  I  looked  at 
Samuel  to  see  if  his  manner  betrayed  any  trace  of  amaze- 
ment at  my  visitor,  any  sense  of  the  grotesque  in  the 
appearance  of  the  man  downstairs.  The  servant  seemed 
to  have  a  tremendous  advantage  over  me ;  and  in  the  in- 
stant that  he  stood  there,  my  eyes  searched  him  through 
and  through.  But  Samuel's  manner  and  his  tone  were 
the  same  as  usual. 

"Bring  Mr.  Ellery  upstairs,"  I  said.  "He  doesn't 
know  the  way. ' ' 

It  wasn't  long  till  Samuel  stood  there  again;  and  this 
time  he  was  not  alone.  I  had  heard  the  two  of  them 
coming  through  the  hall.  When  the  knock  sounded,  I 
drew  a  long  breath  and,  trembling,  started  for  the  door; 
opening  it,  I  heard  Samuel  murmur,  "Mr.  Ellery,"  be- 
fore he  turned  to  go.  Then  I  took  one  look  at  the  man 
before  me — and  felt  as  if  I  had  been  dragged  back  from 
the  edge  of  a  precipice. 

Sooner  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  I  had  shaken  hands 
with  him  and  was  ushering  him  into  the  room;  he 
dropped  into  a  large  armchair  beside  the  reading-table  as 
naturally  as  if  he  had  done  it  all  his  life.  But  he  was 
very  grave. 

I  took  a  rocking-chair  opposite  and  shoved  across  the 
table  an  ash-tray:  I  had  bought  it  the  day  before. 
"Don't  you  want  to  smoke?"  I  asked  suddenly,  and  we 
both  laughed.  In  one  of  his  letters  he  had  told  me  that 
he  was  never  good-natured  after  dinner  till  he  had  had  a 
smoke. 

I  glanced  over  at  the  mantelpiece  where  a  small  gilt 
clock  was  ticking  out  importantly  that  it  was  after  nine. 
"I'm  quite  sure,"  said  I,  "that  you  haven't  had  time 
since  dinner  even  for  a  cigarette. ' ' 

"I  know  I'm  late,"  he  said,  his  glance  following 
mine.     "I  didn't  get  back  from  Philadelphia  till  seven 

264 


'•WILLIAM  B.  ELLERY,  GENERAL  DELIVERY'* 

o'clock.  And  I  haven't  had  a  smoke  since  I  left  the 
train. ' '  Then,  with  a  slight  gesture  of  acknowledgment, 
he  brought  out  a  cigar-case.  I  noticed  that  it  was 
marked,  "W.  B.  E. "  This  discovery  struck  me  as  sig- 
nificant, but,  in  an  effort  to  ignore  it,  I  said  something 
trivial,  I  have  forgotten  what;  with  deliberation,  the 
man  picked  out  a  cigar  and,  biting  off  its  end,  held  a 
match  ready  to  strike,  as  if  awaiting  my  next  remark. 

I  referred  to  something  he  had  written  me  concerning 
the  work  that  took  him  to  Philadelphia ;  as  he  smoked, 
he  told  me  more  of  it,  though  without  mentioning  names 
or  definite  localities.  Meantime,  while  I  followed  every 
word  he  said,  I  was  furtively  observing  him. 

No  one  would  have  called  him  handsome.  But  he 
was  something  better :  he  looked  interesting.  And  I  felt 
as  much  at  home  with  him  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the 
boys  whom  I  had  known  in  college ;  grown  older  now,  of 
course,  but  not  old  enough  so  that  there  was  any  ex- 
planation except  prematureness  for  the  gray  hair  on  his 
left  temple.  His  eyes,  too,  were  gray,  and  I  marked  the 
tired  droop  of  the  lids.  The  long  thin  hand  holding  the 
cigar  was  muscular. 

When  he  spoke,  as  he  did  between  meditative  puffs  at 
his  cigar,  the  low,  almost  drawling  voice  was  restful  to 
me ;  and  I  liked  what  he  said.  When  he  listened,  it  was 
with  that  air  of  grave  attention  that  seems  like  homage 
to  a  girl.  But  most  of  all  the  impression  he  conveyed 
was  of  one  tired  and  overworked ;  and  I  felt  sorry  for 
him. 

The  conversation  went  on  easily,  uninterruptedly; 
the  manner  of  our  learning  of  each  other  we  ignored. 
Why  refer  to  it  when  there  was  so  much  else  to  say  ?  In 
the  long  correspondence — a  month,  with  letters  every  day 
or  so — we  had  found  out  much  about  each  other's 
tastes.  And  now  we  were  like  old  friends  who,  after 
long  separation,  had  met  again  and  were  comparing 
notes  on  what  had  most  interested  us  in  the  interval. 
18  265 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

At  twenty  minutes  after  ten,  he  rose  to  go.  As  he 
shook  hands  with  me  he  said,  "You're  an  outdoors  girl, 
aren't  you?" 

"As  much  as  I  can  be,  tied  up  in  an  oifice  all  day 
long, ' '  I  laughed.     ' '  But  I  exercise  a  lot. ' ' 

"I  wonder  why  all  women  don't,"  he  mused;  then 
chuckling  feebly,  ' '  or  for  the  matter  of  that,  all  men. ' ' 

"Speak  for  yourself,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  used  to,"  he  insisted.  "I  thought  I  was  an 
athlete  when  I  was  in  college.  So  did  other  folks. 
They  gave  me  foolish  prizes — cups,  you  know,  engraved 
— things  I  could  never  sell. ' '  Then  he  smiled.  ' '  How 
far  can  you  walk?" 

' '  I  should  like  to  walk — in  cold  weather,  you  under- 
stand— most  of  the  way  down  to  the  office  in  the  morn- 
ing and  back  again  at  night.  But  there  isn't  time. 
However,  I  usually  manage  to  get  in  about  five  miles. ' ' 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  said  he.  "If  more 
women  would  get  out  and  walk,  they  wouldn't  be  com- 
plaining of  their  symptoms  all  the  time.  I  might  as 
well  tell  you  that  I  haven't  a  very  high  opinion  of  your 
sex.  Most  of  the  women  I  have  known  were  lazy — and 
unintelligent  at  the  same  time.  As  if  either  wasn't  bad 
enough!"  There  was  a  pause;  and  when  he  spoke  again 
it  was  wistfully.  "It's  cool  and  green  in  Central  Park, 
isn't  it?  Will  you  take  a  walk  with  me  to-morrow 
there?" 

' '  With  pleasure, ' '  I  exclaimed.     ' '  What  time  ?' ' 

Ruefully  he  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  ' '  You  see,  I 
don't  know  what  time  I'll  wake  up.  If  I'm  in  luck,  I'll 
sleep  till  noon.  I'm  so  dead  tired  I  wouldn't  have  gone 
anywhere  to-night  but  here."  He  sighed  a  little. 
"Does  it  matter  very  much  about  the  time?" 

" No, "  said  I.     "I  shall  be  at  home  all  day. ' ' 

Then  he  went  away,  without  any  reference  to  the 
postscript  that  had  said,  "When  I  see  you  I'll  explain." 

It   troubled  me   when   I   was  alone.     But  the  tired 
266 


"WILLIAM  B.  ELLERY,  GENERAL  DELIVERY" 

droop  of  the  lids  over  his  gray  eyes  came  back  to  me. 
I  remembered,  too,  the  slight  stoop  of  the  shoulders,  the 
discouraged  air — and  his  wistfulness. 

"It  doesn't  matter  after  all,"  I  thought.  "He's  a 
tired  boy  and  I'm  going  to  trust  him.  By  and  by  he  will 
explain. ' ' 


CHAPTER   XLVI 
A  SUNDAY  IN  CENTRAL  PARK 

TO  my  surprise,  next  morning  he  was  announced  at 
half  past  ten.     He  waited  for  me  in  the  parlor 
and  when  I  walked  in,  buttoning  my  gloves,  he 
looked   up   with  a  start,  then   said:  "I  didn't  suppose 
you'd  be  ready  yet  awhile,  so  I  brought  a  book  to  read. " 

I  burst  into  a  laugh.  "Oh,  of  course,  if  you  prefer 
to  read" — a  gesture  indicated  my  willingness  to  efface 
myself. 

But  he  tucked  the  volume — it  was  a  limp  little  book 
— into  his  pocket,  took  out  his  watch,  glanced  at  it  with 
a  "Pardon  me,"  and  put  it  back.  Then  he  turned  con- 
fidentially to  me.  "I  just  wanted  to  be  sure.  I  haven't 
been  in  the  house  six  minutes  yet.  I  see  I  shall  have  to 
reconstruct  my  ideas  of  girls. ' ' 

With  that  we  set  out  for  Central  Park.  It  was  a 
beautiful  morning,  with  fine,  bracing  air.  In  broad  day- 
light the  harassed  expression  of  his  face  was  very  no- 
ticeable ;  and  yet  he  was  a  young  man,  not  much  more 
than  thirty,  I  was  sure.  But  on  his  shoulders  seemed  to 
rest  the  burdens  of  the  world. 

It  pleased  me  to  observe  that  the  burdens  lifted  as  the 
morning  passed.  We  walked  and  talked  at  ease;  now 
covering  long  stretches  of  the  Park  with  which  I  judged 
he  was  not  familiar;  now  pausing  to  feed  the  squirrels, 
for  I  had  some  nuts  in  the  pocket  of  my  coat.  All 
around  us  nature  wore  her  most  attractive  garb ;  above  us 
bent  a  sky  serene.  July  to-day  was  May,  as  last  night 
had  been  like  March. 

268 


A  SUNDAY  IN  CENTRAL  PARK 

Later  on  we  found  a  shady  nook  near  the  upper  end 
of  Central  Park  and  sat  down  to  rest ;  then  he  brought 
out  the  little  book  he  had  been  reading  when  I  came 
downstairs,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  "Shakespeare's  Eng- 
land. ' '  He  told  me  of  the  places  mentioned — especially 
of  Stratford,  which  he  knew  best  of  all — and  read  to  me 
bits  of  description  that  he  liked,  and  talked  of  many 
things,  evincing  always  appreciation  of  what  was  fine 
and  beautiful. 

By  and  by  he  smoked,  and  I  read  to  him.  But  there 
were  many  interruptions :  one  or  the  other  of  us  would 
comment  on  something  in  the  text  and  that  would  lead 
us  far.  But  the  journey  was  worth  taking,  for  it  yielded 
treasures  of  understanding  and  sympathy. 

And  yet  the  talk  was  almost  always  far  away  and  im- 
personal. There  was  in  this  man  no  questioning,  no 
endeavor  to  hunt  up  acquaintances  in  common,  no 
attempt  to  designate  in  his  own  case,  or  to  search  out  in 
mine,  chapter  and  verse  in  any  volume  of  experience. 

This  to  me  was  not  wholly  satisfactory :  my  life  was 
like  an  open  book  and  I  was  a  little  chagrined  perhaps. 
that  he  showed  no  curiosity  concerning  it  That  he 
liked  me  as  I  was  to-day,  I  understood ;  but  that  he  cared 
nothing  for  my  yesterdays,  seemed  strange. 

For  my  part  I  wanted  to  know  all  about  him  from  the 
day  that  he  was  bom:  especially  was  I  eager  for  in- 
formation as  to  how  he  lived  and  where,  and  just  what 
his  business  was.  * '  Expert  chemist' '  was  too  vague  a 
term  to  satisfy  my  mind.  By  whom  was  he  employed 
when  he  went  so  frequently  from  town  ?  But  he  didn't 
tell  me  and  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  ask.  He  had  said 
in  his  first  letter  that  he  was  alone:  on  that  I  built  my 
faith. 

On  that  and  on  the  impression  created  by  his  letters 
and — now  that  I  had  seen  him — by  his  personality. 
Without  knowing  why,  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  And  sym- 
pathy held  in  abeyance    for  the  most  part  to-day,  as  it 

269 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

had  done  last  evening,  uneasiness  on  my  own  account 
concerning  the  mystery  that  enshrouded  him.  As  for 
his  manner  to  me,  if  I  had  been  a  saint  from  heaven  he 
couldn't  have  shown  me  more  respect;  and  there  was  at 
times  a  wistfulness  about  him  that  appealed  to  the 
mother  side  of  me.  When  all  was  said  and  done,  he  was 
a  tired  boy,  and  I  wanted  to  comfort  him. 

And  so  I  forgot  myself  and  tried  to  drive  away  the 
serious  expression  from  his  face;  tried  to  make  him 
laugh  and  felt  well  repaid  when,  at  the  close  of  some 
recital  that  I  had  made  as  amusing  as  I  could,  he  said : 
"Do  you  know,  I  feel  like  another  man?" 

But  he  certainly  had  the  appearance  of  a  child — a 
child  who  was  rather  pleased  with  himself,  too — when, 
from  underneath  his  light  overcoat  that  lay  near  us  on 
the  grass,  he  produced  a  pasteboard  box  and  proceeded 
very  slowly  to  unwrap  the  covering.  I  had  noticed  the 
box  the  first  thing  when  I  greeted  him  in  the  parlor  of 
the  boarding  house,  but  I  didn't  say  a  word.  So  now  in 
silence  I  regarded  him. 

"I've  been  waiting  all  the  morning,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  fumbled  with  the  string,  "for  you  to  ask  me  what 
was  in  this  box. ' ' 

Now  it  was  my  turn  to  be  pleased  with  myself ;  and  I 
know  I  showed  it  as  I  said,  "Oh,  I'm  no  relation  to 
Bluebeard's  Wife. " 

"I  still  think  you  would  ask  me  if  I  gave  you  time 
enough,"  was  the  reply.  "But  it  isn't  worth  while." 
And  he  laughed.     "I'm  too  hungry  myself. " 

Then  he  removed  the  cover  from  the  box,  took  out  a 
couple  of  Japanese  napkins,  and  spread  one  of  them  on 
my  lap.  Passing  the  box  to  me,  he  said,  "I  hope  you'll 
like  the  stuff." 

I  looked  inside,  and  saw  sandwiches  of  various  kinds, 
pickles,  hard-boiled  eggs,  salted  almonds,  and  a  large 
supply  of  fruit;  there  was  also  a  bottle  of  coffee,  a  paper 
of  salt  and  pepper,  and  some  sugar,  too. 

270 


A  SUNDAY  IN  CENTRAL  PARK 

* '  How  perfectly  lovely, ' '  I  exclaimed.  ' '  I  never  sup- 
posed a  man  would  think  of  anything  like  that. ' '  It  was 
on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  say,  "Where  did  you  get  it? 
Who  put  it  up  for  you  ?' '     But  I  refrained. 

"I've  done  considerable  camping  in  my  time,"  he 
said,  as  if  the  completeness  of  the  preparations  called 
for  an  explanation  of  some  kind. 

But  no  other  explanation  did  he  vouchsafe  concern- 
ing anything ;  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  ignore  all 
except  the  here  and  now.  In  high  glee  we  ate  the 
luncheon,  dividing  the  food  punctiliously  into  two  equal 
shares.  And  there  wasn't  a  crumb  left.  Then  he 
smoked  again,  and  told  me  of  picnicking  in  Germany, 
"with  half  a  dozen  nationalities  represented  in  the 
bunch";  of  mountain  climbing  in  Switzerland,  "with 
a  queer  chap,  a  Russian,  who  was  exiled  from  his 
country";  of  fishing  trips  to  the  Banks  of  Newfound- 
land. He  talked  easily  and  well;  in  fact,  nothing 
was  left  unsaid  save  what  I  wanted  most  of  all  to 
hear. 

By  and  by,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  wandered  back 

to  the  boarding  house  in  West  Seventy Street.     As 

we  lingered  at  the  door  he  said,  "This  has  been  fine. 
May  I  see  you  again — soon  ?' ' 

"Yes." 

"I'd  like  to  come  over  Wednesday  evening,"  he  con- 
tinued wistfully. 

I  gave  him  my  hand  for  good-by. 

"Until  Wednesday,  then,"  I  said. 

Monday  evening  when  I  reached  home  from  the  office 
I  found  a  letter  from  him,  postmarked,  "Brooklyn." 
At  the  top  of  the  first  page  he  had  written,  "Sunday 
evening. ' '     And  this  was  the  beginning : 

"I  feel  that  I  have  known  you  always  and  yet,  as 
most  people  measure  time,  it  is  only  twenty-four  hours 
since  we  met.     How  do  you  account  for  it?" 

271 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Then  he  referred  to  our  conversation  Saturday  even- 
ing, and  reviewed  our  day  together  in  the  Park.  After 
that  he  said: 

"May  I  speak  frankly  and  will  you  forgive  me  if  it 
seems  precipitate?  You  are  the  one  girl  in  the  world 
that  I  want  for  a  friend ;  the  kind  of  friend  that  counts, 
that  helps  a  man  to  do  his  best.  My  life  is  lonely — and 
hard.  I  work  early  and  late,  sometimes  in  New  York, 
oftener  out  of  town ;  it's  only  once  or  possibly  twice  a 
week  that  I  could  go  to  see  you  at  the  most ;  and  perhaps 
I  should  be  too  tired  to  talk  then.  But  just  to  sit  and 
smoke  quietly  in  that  cool,  high-ceilinged  room  of  yours, 
just  to  know  that  you  were  there  and  that  you  under- 
stood I'd  rather  be  with  you  than  anywhere  else  on  earth 
— that  is  what  I  want. 

"And  may  I  call  you 'Dorothy'?  I'm  sorry  you're 
not  'Margaret,'  for  as  I  told  you,  that  was  my  mother's 
name.  She  died  when  I  was  a  little  chap ;  and  I  have 
always  worshiped  her  memory.  But  I  like  'Dorothy' 
next  best.  Or  is  it  that  I  should  like  any  name  that  be- 
longed to  you?  But  you're  not  'Miss  Baldwin'  to  me. 
You're  'Dorothy,*  and  I  want  to  call  you  that. 

"I  know  I'm  asking  a  great  deal.  And  I  have  noth- 
ing to  give  you  in  return — at  present — except  gratitude. 

"Wednesday  evening  I'm  going  to  bring  you  a  book 
of  Stevenson's;  there's  a  short  story  that  I  want  to  read 
to  you.  Unless,  after  you  have  read  this  letter,  you  tell 
me  not  to  come.     But  please  don't. 

"Billy." 


CHAPTER  XLVII 
A  VISIT  TO  THE  COLUMBIA  LIBRARY 

THAT  was  the  way  it  began ;  and  it  continued  out- 
wardly the  same  for  upward  of  two  months. 
The  evenings  that  he  spent  with  me,  the  Sun- 
days that  we  visited  the  Park,  were  perfect ;  and  the  let- 
ters that  he  sent  me  at  frequent  intervals  were  always 
full  of  charm.  But  when  I  was  alone  again,  from  the 
moment  that  he  stepped  outside  my  door  till  he  reap- 
peared, I  brooded  on  the  mystery.  I  used  to  think  some- 
times that  perhaps  when  he  was  very  young  he  had  com- 
mitted some  crime,  had  done  something  of  which  he  was 
ashamed — something  he  was  trying  to  live  down.  And 
that  I  could  help  him  only  by  keeping  still.  And  so, 
though  his  silence  hurt  me  more  and  more,  I  kept  waiting 
all  the  time  for  him  to  speak. 

One  day  the  landlady  asked  me  where  he  lived. 
' '  Brooklyn, ' '  said  I,  remembering  that  most  of  his  letters 
were  mailed  there. 

"What  section  of  Brooklyn?"  she  persisted.  "I  lived 
in  Flatbush  once.  * ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  anything  about  Brooklyn,"  I  re- 
plied and  made  good  my  escape.  But  after  that  I  was  in 
terror  lest  she  should  waylay  him  in  the  hall  and  ques- 
tion him. 

There  were  usually  other  people  present  when  I  paid 
my  board ;  but  it  happened  once  that,  on  my  weekly  visit 
to  the  landlady,  I  found  her  at  her  desk  alone.  "That 
fellow  of  yours  keeps  a-calling  pretty  regular, ' '  she  cora- 

273 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

merited,  smiling  and  folding  away  the  money  I  had  given 
her.     ' '  It  looks  serious. ' ' 

As  a  rule  people  rarely  ventured  on  personal  remarks 
with  me.  But  the  landlady  was  privileged.  She  was 
elderly  and  lame;  and  I  knew  she  had  my  good  at  heart. 
*'Goin'  to  lose  you,  am  I?"  she  inquired,  laying  her 
hand  caressingly  on  my  shoulder. 

I  blushed ;  and  then,  furious  with  myself  for  it,  only 
blushed  the  more  as  I  replied,  "Not  the  least  danger  in 
the  world." 

"Well,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  and  she  shook  her 
head.  * '  I  have  heard  girls  talk  before.  I  should  miss 
you,  but  I'd  be  glad  to  see  you  married  if  you  was  goin' 
to  do  well.  And  I'll  bet  that  fellow  is  as  smart  as  a  steel 
trap.     I  hope  he's  a  professor?" 

"No,"  said  I.     "He's  a  chemist." 

"Oh,  I  meant  a  professin'  Christian,"  said  the  land- 
lady. 

There  was  no  further  questioning  from  her,  but  I  felt 
that  she  was  watching  me  and  was  hoping  for  the  best ; 
and  the  other  people  in  the  house  were  curious  more  or 
less.  It  was  probably  the  fact  of  my  having  a  reputa- 
tion in  the  house  for  being  "very  particular"  about  young 
men  that  gave  zest  to  the  gossip  now.  I  have  no  reason 
to  believe  that  there  was  anything  especially  ill-natured 
in  the  talk,  but  I  knew  that  they  were  talking,  listening 
for  the  door-bell,  and  eying,  too,  the  envelopes  that, 
addressed  in  the  same  handwriting,  were  so  often  waiting 
for  me  in  the  dining-room. 

Doubly  grateful,  then,  I  was  for  the  privacy  of  my 
own  sitting-room ;  for  while  not  a  word  had  been  said 
thus  far  that  the  whole  world  might  not  have  heard,  the 
reading  aloud — we  read  many  stories  in  books  and  maga- 
zines— the  sense  of  homelikeness,  and,  of  course,  the 
man's  smoking,  would  not  have  been  possible  in  the  pub- 
lic reception-room  downstairs.  And,  indeed,  I  knew 
how  to  value  present  advantages  after  having  been  the 

274 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  COLUMBIA  LIBRARY 

object  of  so  much  scrutiny  at  the  Mead's  when  Paul  For- 
sythe  was  calling  on  me ;  and  also  at  Mrs.  Miggs's, 
where  the  other  boarders  used  to  say,  with  much  jocund 
stretching  of  the  truth,  that  they  never  stepped  into  the 
parlor  without  finding  there  Mr.  Prime  and  me. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  present:  Billy  told  me,  when 
he  called  a  certain  Thursday  evening,  that  he  was  going 
to  Pittsburgh  the  next  day  on  business ;  that  he  would  be 
there  over  Sunday  and  expected  to  return  on  Tuesday. 

* '  In  the  meantime  I  shall  be  too  busy  even  to  write 
a  note  to  you,"  he  said.  "Can  you  see  me  Tuesday 
evening?" 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

After  he  had  gone  that  evening,  I  wrote  a  note  and 
then  slipped  out  and  mailed  it  to  a  young  girl  in  Arveme, 
Long  Island,  inviting  her  to  spend  Saturday  afternoon, 
Saturday  night,  and  Sunday  with  me  in  New  York.  She 
was  a  girl  from  up  the  State  who  had  arrived  ten  days 
ago  to  make  her  way  alone  in  the  metropolis,  and  at  once 
sought  work  through  the  employment  bureau  which  our 
society  maintained.  At  first  sight,  I  was  much  interested 
in  her,  and  a  position  offering  just  then  in  the  Long 
Island  town,  I  was  instrumental  in  securing  it  for  her. 

She  didn't  know  how  fortunate  she  was  to  find  any- 
thing to  do  so  soon ;  yet  she  accepted  the  position  grate- 
fully, she  said.  But  I  could  see  that  the  child — she 
wasn't  quite  nineteen — was  disappointed  at  not  being  in 
New  York.  The  glamor  of  the  city  was  upon  her :  to  be 
so  near  and  yet  so  far  as  Arveme  was  tantalizing.  And 
I  suspected  that  by  this  time  she  was  homesick,  too ;  she 
had  never  been  away  from  her  mother  until  now,  she  told 
me,  in  the  course  of  our  first  interview ;  so  I  welcomed 
this  opportunity  to  take  her  sight-seeing,  and  also  hoped 
to  have  a  quiet  talk  with  her.  But  I  don't  want  to  make 
myself  out  more  generous  than  I  was :  it  is  also  very  true 
that,  quite  aside  from  my  interest  in  the  girl,  I  wanted 
something  to  occupy  ray  mind  while  Billy  was  away. 

275 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Directly  her  joyous  acceptance  of  my  invitation  came 
to  hand,  I  so  arranged  my  work  that  I  could  get  away  on 
Saturday  at  noon;  I  bought  theater  tickets  for  the  even- 
ing, but  decided  to  leave  the  program  of  the  afternoon 
to  my  guest's  own  choice.  Accordingly,  as  she  and  I 
lingered  over  luncheon  at  Purssell's  on  Saturday,  I  asked 
her  what  she  wanted  most  of  all  to  see  that  afternoon. 

The  girl's  eyes  shone.  "The  Columbia  University 
Library,"  she  said.  And  she  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "A 
friend  of  mine  graduated  at  Columbia  last  June.  He's 
out  West  now." 

The  dear  child !  I  knew  just  how  she  felt  and  I  would 
have  undertaken  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  had  it  been 
twenty  miles  away.  There  wasn't  any  Subway  then; 
and  it  took  us  a  long  time  to  cover  the  distance  to  Co- 
lumbia. 

In  the  rotunda  of  the  library  my  companion  spied  a 
familiar  face.  "Why,  there's  one  of  the  girls  from 
home, ' '  she  cried.  It  was  the  season  for  autumn  excur- 
sions to  New  York,  and  every  section  of  the  city  was 
thronged  with  visitors. 

After  the  two  girls  had  embraced  and  explained  to 
their  mutual  satisfaction  (and  to  the  manifest  annoyance 
of  certain  individuals  who  were  tiptoeing  around)  how 
they  happened  to  be  there,  I  conducted  them  upstairs  to 
an  alcove  that  chanced  to  be  imoccupied ;  and  I  left  them 
there  together  that  they  might  chat  to  their  heart's  con- 
tent, telling  them  that  when  they  wanted  me  they  would 
find  me  somewhere  down  the  corridor. 

To  fill  the  interim,  I  began  pacing  idly  up  and  down, 
pausing  for  an  instant  now  and  then  to  read  the  titles  of 
the  volumes  near  the  doorway  of  the  alcoves  that  I 
passed.  But  all  of  a  sudden  I  came  to  a  dead  halt.  In 
front  of  me  were  rows  on  rows  of  college  catalogues,  and 
my  eyes  had  fallen  on  the  "Harvard"  group.  Of  course 
I  thought  of  Billy — and  drew  nearer  to  the  shelves. 

He  had  never  mentioned  his  class  year,  but  within 
276 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  COLUMBIA  LIBRARY 

certain  limits  I  could  approximate;  and  I  smiled  at  the 
idea  of  telling  him,  when  I  saw  him  next,  how  I  had 
guessed  right  about  the  year  he  graduated  the  first  time 
I  tried. 

With  this  ambition  uppermost,  I  hesitated  among  sev- 
eral dry,  official-looking  documents.  I  had  no  thought 
of  spying  on  him,  of  ferreting  out  any  mystery :  my  only 
impulse  was  affection  for  the  places  he  had  known;  a 
wish  to  see  his  name  in  black  and  white ;  even  to  discover 
the  name  of  the  dormitory  that  had  sheltered  him  in  the 
long  ago.  I  remembered  my  own  college  days:  and 
hoped  his  had  been  happier. 

All  this  and  more  rushed  through  my  mind  as  I  stood 
before  the  shelves.  I  ran  my  fingers  along  the  back  of 
several  catalogues,  debating  which  to  choose  for  the  first 
try ;  then  I  selected  one,  pulled  it  out,  blew  off  the  dust, 
opened  it,  and  scanned  the  roster  of  the  several  classes  for 
that  academic  year.     Billy  wasn't  there. 

In  order  to  save  time,  I  next  referred  to  the  year 
book  of  the  Harvard  Club.  "That  would  tell  the  year, " 
I  thought.  But  it  didn't  tell  me  anything.  However,  I 
reminded  myself  that  not  all  Harvard  graduates  were 
members  of  the  Harvard  Club,  and  turned  back  to  the 
catalogues.  So  careful  was  I  not  to  overlook  any  possi- 
bility of  finding  him,  that  I  went  through  the  "E's" 
for  the  last  fifteen  years,  and  searched  the  lists  of 
special  students,  too.  But  it  wasn't  any  use:  the  name 
that  I  was  looking  for  didn't  once  appear. 

I  lifted  from  the  shelves  the  Johns  Hopkins'  catalogues 
for  the  same  period.  They  were  musty  and  covered 
with  dust,  and  they  felt  heavier  than  they  were.  I  laid 
them  on  the  table  in  a  pile.  One  by  one  I  examined 
them :  all  with  the  same  result.  The  Billy  that  I  knew 
was  unknown  to  them. 

I  sat  there  fingering  the  last  volume  I  had  looked  at ; 
then  I  laid  it  down  and,  as  still  as  death,  went  over 
various  discrepancies  in  Billy's  verbal  accounts  of  things 

277 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

that  I  myself  knew  about.  Heretofore  I  had  covered 
with  the  mantle  of  charity  his  general  vagueness  and  his 
inaccuracies — but  now  I  laid  them  bare.  An  "expert 
chemist, ' '  he  had  said.  For  the  first  time  it  came  over 
me  that  the  man  of  science  was  above  everything  exact. 
I  reviewed  the  things  Billy  had  told  me  from  the  start. 
They  were  like  a  column  of  figures,  each  one  insignifi- 
cant in  itself,  perhaps;  but  when  I  added  them,  they 
gave  me  a  total  of  doubt.     And  it  was  written  large.   .   .  . 

The  voice  of  my  young  friend  called  in  the  corridor, 
"Miss  Baldwin,  Miss  Baldwin,  where  are  you?" 

I  swallowed  hard.  "Here,"  I  said.  Then  I  rose 
slowly,  gathered  up  the  catalogues,  and  replaced  them 
on  the  shelves. 

The  girl  had  found  me  now.  She  gave  a  quick  glance 
at  my  face  and  exclaimed,  "Oh,  you're  tired!  It's  a 
shame  to  keep  you  waiting  here  so  long.  But,"  she 
sighed  happily,  looking  around  the  Library,  "isn't  it 
beautiful?" 

'^or  answer  I  kissed  her — and  we  went  away. 


CHAPTER   XLVm 

"next  time  I'll  tell  him" 

LATE  Sunday  afternoon  her  visit  ended.  On  our  way 
to  the  Thirty-fourth  Street  Ferry — I  was  going 
with  her  to  Long  Island  City — she  assured   me 
that  everything  had  been  perfect.     "I  shall  remember 
this  visit  all  my  life, ' '  she  said. 

We  had  left  the  car  now  and  were  making  for  the 
ferry  slip.  A  boat  had  just  come  in  and  we  followed 
those  ahead  of  us  down  the  passage-way  to  go  on  board. 
And  there  in  the  throng  of  passengers  who  were  hurrying 
from  the  boat  I  ran  into  Billy :  Billy  with  a  traveling  bag 
coming  from  the  train,  a  Long  Island  train. 

"Why,"  I  gasped,  "you  told  me  you  were  going  to 
be  in  Pittsburgh. " 

"Oh — I — at  the  last  minute — I — couldn't  get  away," 
he  stammered.  "It  had  to  be  postponed.  Will  you 
excuse  me,  please?  I'm  in  a  hurry  now.  I'll  see  you 
Tuesday,  as  we  said. ' '  And  he  was  gone  before  I  could 
reply. 

Tuesday  evening  didn't  bring  him,  but  it  brought  a 
note.  He  said  he  was  writing  on  the  ferry-boat — it 
was  mailed  in  Jersey  City — to  explain  that  he  was 
ordered  off  unexpectedly  on  the  postponed  Pittsburgh 
trip.  "I  hope  to  get  back  by  Friday;  if  not,  then  Satur- 
day," he  said.  "I'll  send  you  a  letter  just  as  soon  as  I 
hit  New  York,  and  tell  you  all  about  it  when  we  meet. 
Pray  for  me,  my  lady,  for  this  trip  means  a  lot." 

There  was  no  word  of  him  on  Friday;  but,  when  I 
went  home  to  dinner  Saturday  evening,  I  found  a  note. 

279 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

It  had  been  mailed  at  ten  o'clock  that  morning,  and  it 
read  like  this: 

"I  shall  call  this  evening,  unless  you  send  me  word 
you  cannot  see  me. 

"Billy." 

There  was  no  time  to  send  him  word,  even  had  I 
wished ;  and  no  place  to  send  it  but  the  General  Delivery. 

It  was  a  week  since  the  journey  to  Columbia :  for  a 
week  I  had  been  thinking  what  to  say.  And  now  as  I 
dressed  with  one  eye  on  the  clock — for  it  was  almost 
time  for  him — I  rehearsed  it  all.  "It's  the  only  way, "  I 
kept  saying  to  myself.     "I  can't  go  on  like  this." 

But  when  the  door-bell  rang,  when  I  heard  him  drag- 
ging himself  upstairs,  when  at  last  he  stood  before  me, 
what  I  had  so  carefully  thought  out  was  of  no  avail.  I 
didn't  remember  a  word  of  it:  all  I  knew  was  that  Billy 
was  ill. 

"I'm  tied  up  with  rheumatism, "  he  explained;  and 
his  face,  his  every  motion  showed  he  spoke  the  truth. 
"I  had  to  fuss  around  in  the  wet  in  Pittsburgh.  It 
rained  all  the  time  I  was  there  and — worse  luck — I  didn't 
take  the  paint  pot  with  me. ' ' 

"The  paint  pot?"  I  inquired. 

"Yes.  The  doctor  told  me  to  use  it  freely;  and  I  do 
when  the  stuff  is  where  I  am.  But  it's  generally  some 
place  else. ' '  Wearily  he  limped  over  to  a  rocking  chair. 
"You  see  these  attacks  have  a  way  of  coming  on  unex- 
pectedly. If  the  sun  forgets  to  get  up  some  morning,  or 
it's  damp,  or  warm,  or  almost  anything,  I  have  to  take 
to  paint. ' '  Here  he  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair ;  his 
face  was  drawn  with  pain. 

After  awhile  he  smiled  again.  "You've  no  idea  how 
ingenious  I've  become  in  tattooing;  and  I've  worked  out 
some  very  tasteful  patterns  on  the  carpet,  too.  The 
stuff  spills  easier  than  ink."    Again  he  tried  to  smile, 

280 


"NEXT  TIME  I'LL  TELL  HIM" 

but  failed.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Dorothy.  I'm  not  very 
entertaining.     But — I'm  all  done  up. " 

"Don't  try  to  talk,"  I  said.  "You  ought  not  to  be 
here,  anyway." 

He  shot  a  glance  at  me. 

"I  mean  the  best  place  for  a  sick  man  is  at  home. " 

"Home?"    At  the  word,  his  lip  curled. 

"Well,  I  call  this  home,  you  know,"  and  I  looked 
around  the  room.  "Even  if  it  is  a  boarding  house.  It's 
the  best  I  have. ' ' 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door  and  I  went  to  answer 
it.  It  was  Samuel  with  the  ice  water.  As  I  put  away 
the  pitcher  and  was  passing  Billy's  chair  in  returning  to 
my  own,  he  caught  my  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  he  murmured.  "Dorothy."  And 
wistfully  he  looked  up  at  me. 

I  drew  my  hand  away ;  then  for  an  instant  laid  both 
hands  upon  his  head,  pushing  him  away.  "You  mustn't. 
Boy, "  I  said.  But  I  wasn't  afraid  of  him.  I  was  afraid 
of  myself.  He  was  sick  and  tired  and  dear ;  for  the  mo- 
ment everything  else  was  blotted  out.  He  was  like  a 
child.  And  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  putting 
my  arms  around  him. 

I  went  back  to  my  chair.  There  was  a  long  pause ; 
then,  with  a  look  at  the  clock,  I  said:  "It's  twenty 
minutes  after  nine.  You're  sick  and  tired.  And  I'm 
going  to  send  you  home. ' ' 

He  nodded.  "I  knew  I  wasn't  fit  to  make  a  call. 
But  I  wanted  to  see  you. ' ' 

After  he  was  gone  I  thought  about  him  a  long  time. 
* '  Every  hour  I  put  it  off  makes  it  so  much  harder.  But 
what  could  I  say  to  him  to-night?  Next  time  I'll  tell 
him." 


•19 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

"A  MAN  THAT  HAD  LIED  TO  ME!" 

"IW  TEXT  time"  was  the  following  Thursday  evening 

I^U      and  he  brought  a  magazine;  there  was  a  story 

in  it  that  he  wanted  me  to  read  aloud.     I  often 

read   to   him   while   he,    lounging  in  the  cozy  comer, 

smoked.     So  it  was  to-night. 

But  when  the  story  was  finished,  I  didn't  wait  to  hear 
his  comments;  didn't  wait  to  lose  my  courage.  I  went 
straight  over  to  the  cozy  comer,  drew  a  chair  alongside 
and  sat  down, 

"Billy,"  I  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 
"All  right,"  he  replied;  but  I  thought  I  caught  a 
tremor  in  his  voice.     And  he  laid  down  his  pipe. 

Then  I  began  at  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance — 
even  farther  back  than  that.  I  told  him  the  reasons  for 
the  personal,  showed  him  the  blankness  of  my  life;  told 
him  how  for  a  month  before  we  met  his  letters  filled  the 
blank;  recalled  to  his  memory  the  postscript,  "when  I 
see  you  I'll  explain. "  I  reviewed  our  various  meetings, 
his  inaccuracies,  the  discrepancies  in  his  accounts  of 
things.  "And  you  said  you  were  a  chemist.  Science  is 
exact,  I  wanted  to  trust  you,  Billy, "  my  voice  was  very 
low,  but  I  knew  he  heard,  '  *  and  yet  there  were  so  many 
things  I  couldn't  understand.  When  you  were  here, 
your  presence  banished  them.  But  they  came  back  when 
you  left." 

Utterance  was  even  more  difficult  when  I  reached  the 
episode  of  the  college  catalogues :  tears  were  in  the  way. 
But  I  went  on  as  I  could ;  once  I  looked  at  him  and  saw 

282 


"A  MAN  THAT  HAD  LIED  TO  ME!" 

that  he  had  shut  his  eyes.  Our  encounter  on  the  ferry- 
boat, the  Sunday  when  he  was  supposed  to  be  in  Pitts- 
burgh, was  the  last  item  in  the  long  account.  The  room 
was  as  still  as  death;  the  man  lay  there  with  closed 
eyes,  motionless. 

How  long  I  waited  I  do  not  know.  It  seemed  an  eter- 
nity. At  last  I  spoke  again.  '  *  You  have  heard  all  this. 
And  you  have  nothing  to  say?" 

"I  have  a  great  deal  to  say.  But  I'm  thinking  how 
to  say  it. ' ' 

"So  this  is  a  time  to  search  for  a  phrase?" 

He  opened  his  eyes  then.  "You  make  it  very  hard  for 
me,  Dorothy, ' '  he  said ;  then  he  rose  and  began  pacing 
up  and  down.  I  rose,  too,  and  stood  by  the  mantelpiece, 
watching  him. 

As  he  turned  in  front  of  me,  I  took  a  step  nearer  him 
and  looked  straight  into  his  eyes.  "You  don't  need  to 
tell  me.  I  know,"  I  said  very  slowly.  "You  are  under 
an  assumed  name. ' ' 

'  *  Yes, ' '  he  said. 

At  this,  some  inarticulate  lament  burst  from  my  lips. 
I  was  convinced  of  it  before.  I  could  even  say  the  words 
myself.  But  to  hear  him  admit  the  truth  was  terrible. 
•  •  But  why ?' '  I  moaned.     "Why ?' ' 

' '  First  I  did  it  for  protection,  just  as  you  did,  * '  he 
replied. 

' '  Of  course.  But  afterward  when  you  had  seen  me, 
when  you  knew  the  kind  of  girl  I  was?"  I  felt  so  weak 
that  I  could  stand  no  longer.  I  sank  down  on  the  sofa 
and  motioned  him  to  sit  beside  me. 

"It  was  the  'Margaret'  that  caught  my  eye  at  first, 
and  what  'Margaret'  said  piqued  my  curiosity,"  he  con- 
fessed. ' '  I  was  lonely  and  discouraged.  That  was  why 
I  wrote.  Then  your  answer  came ;  it  opened  up  a  new 
world  to  me.  For  awhile  I  thought  you  weren't  going 
to  see  me  ever.  But  when  you  wrote  at  last  that  I  could 
call  I  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  you — just  as  much  of  the 

283 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

truth  as  I  could.  But  the  minute  I  saw  you,  Dorothy,  I 
knew  that  I  must  tell  you  nothing — or  everything.  And 
if  I  told  you  everything,  you  would  never  see  me  for  the 
second  time.  It  was  cowardly  in  me:  it  wasn't  fair  to 
you. ' '     And  his  voice  died  away. 

"There's  only  one  explanation  of  all  this,"  I  said. 
But  I  never  suspected  it.     "You're  married. " 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "Seven  years."  Then  he  took  a 
cardcase  from  his  pocket,  scribbled  an  address  upon  a 
card  where  a  name  only  was  engraved,  and  gave  the  card 
to  me.     "That  is  who  I  am. " 

I  read  it  and  handed  back  the  card. 

"There's  something  else,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  quite 
so  base  as  you  suppose.  The  marriage  was  a  mistake. 
She  and  I  are  absolutely  uncongenial.  We  live  under  the 
same  roof — when  I'm  in  this  country — but  it's  God's 
truth  I  am  alone.  I  have  had  more  real  companionship, 
more  sympathy,  in  your  letters  and  your  talk  than  I've 
ever  known  before.  I  want  you  to  promise — not  to  see 
me  now,  of  course — but  just  to  write  to  me.  I  have  to 
go  to  England  before  long,  anyway.  And  I'll  get  a 
divorce  as  soon  as  possible.  That  sort  of  thing  is  done 
decently  every  day ;  and  for  less  cause,  too,  than  she  has 
given  me.  And  then  you  and  I,  Dorothy,  will  be  mar- 
ried— if  you'll  have  me — and  start  life  again." 

Horrified,  I  turned  to  him.  "Do  you  think  I  would 
steal  another  woman's  husband?  Do  you  think  I  would 
marry  a  man  that  was  divorced  ?  A  man  that  had  lied 
tome?" 

He  winced.  "You  don't  know  anything  about  the 
temptations  of  my  life. ' ' 

"No.  But  I  know  my  own  life  and  I'm  sorry  for  us 
both.  And  for  every  one  else  that  is  weary  and  desolate. 
But  that  doesn't  alter  things."  There  was  a  pause.  I 
looked  at  him,  my  eyes  full  of  tears.  "This  is  the  end, 
Billy." 

Without  a  word  he  picked  up  his  hat.  I  was  stand - 
284 


"A  MAN  THAT  HAD  LIED  TO  ME!" 

ing  by  the  mantelpiece  again,  and  he  walked  over  to  me. 
"I  must  do  just  as  you  say.  Good-by,  Dorothy.  I  shall 
never  forget  you,  dear. ' ' 

"Good-by." 

He  kissed  my  hand ;  and  an  instant  later  he  was  gone. 

Afterward  I  saw  that  he  had  left  upon  the  table  the 
card  I  had  handed  back  to  him.  I  took  it  up  and  turned, 
it  over  and  over ;  my  first  impulse  was  to  lock  it  away  in 
a  little  tin  box  I  had.  But  instead  I  tore  it  very  slowly 
into  several  pieces,  placed  the  pieces  in  the  ash-receiver 
and  set  fire  to  them.  I  watched  till  they  were  consumed. 
Then  I  emptied  the  ashes  on  the  ledge  outside  the  win- 
dow, and  the  breeze  carried  them  away. 


CHAPTER  L 

JIM 

THE  sudden  cessation  of  Billy's  calls,  coupled  with 
the  non-arrival  of  letters  addressed  to  me  in  the 
familiar  hand,  puzzled  the  people  in  the  board- 
ing house  who,  grouped  on  the  front  steps  of  an  evening 
through  the  summer,  had  been  accustomed  to  watch  for 
his  approach :  but  there  was  that  in  my  manner  which 
kept  even  the  landlady  from  questioning  me.  Discovery 
that  the  man  was  married,  knowledge  of  the  deceit  he 
had  employed,  was,  after  the  first  smart  of  pain,  an  anti- 
dote. I  promptly  destroyed  his  letters  and  determined 
to  blot  out  the  whole  episode  of  our  acquaintance  from 
my  own  memory  and  from  the  recollection  of  those  who 
were  observing  me. 

Accordingly,  rising  from  the  blow,  I  looked  life — and 
my  neighbors — straight  in  the  face  again,  summoning  to 
my  aid  cheerfulness  and  buoyancy.  Conscious  that  I 
had  made  a  dangerous  experiment  and  that  it  had  failed, 
I  was  devoutly  grateful  that  the  failure  had  brought  no 
more  disaster  in  its  train.  The  very  reaction  from  the 
uncertainty  of  the  last  few  months  had  in  it  something 
wholesome,  something  curative. 

When  at  the  boarding  house,  I  took  pains  to  be  agree- 
able, to  overcome  my  shrinking  from  the  people  I  liked 
least.  But  I  absented  myself  more  often  than  before, 
and  also  invited  guests  more  frequently.  Mrs.  Wells  had 
now  returned  to  town  for  a  short  stay  and,  in  so  far  as 
our  different  tasks  allowed,  we  had  long  walks  and  talks ; 
sometimes  we  went  to  the  theater  together.     Her  friend- 

286 


JIM 

ship  did  much  for  me :  then,  too,  in  my  turn,  I  tried  to 
be  a  helpful  influence  to  some  of  the  girls  with  whom  my 
work  brought  me  in  touch ;  girls  who  were  younger  than 
myself  and  outwardly  less  fortunately  circumstanced; 
girls  for  whom  my  sympathy  was  deepened  by  the  recent 
experience.  Steeling  myself  against  assaults  of  envy 
from  within,  I  also  visited  my  suburban  friends  and  even 
succeeded  in  persuading  them  to  come  to  me  in  town. 
And  so  life  went  on  till  Christmas.  It  wasn't  exciting: 
indeed,  it  was  deadly  dull.     But  I  kept  my  spirits  up. 

During  the  holidays,  a  young  man  moved  into  the 
boarding  house  whose  attitude  toward  the  riddle  of  exist- 
ence was  a  revelation  to  a  girl  like  me.  His  name  was 
James  Wolcott,  and  he  occupied  a  hall  room  on  the  fourth 
floor:  but  before  long  everybody  called  him  "Jim,"  and 
he  was  welcome  everywhere.  Twenty-two  years  old,  he 
was  the  type  of  man  who,  no  matter  how  long  he  lives, 
always  remains  a  boy.  Light-hearted,  good-natured, 
with  little  sense  of  responsibility,  but  frank  and  gener- 
ous and  good  looking,  too,  he  made  friends  easily.  And 
it  was  his  fortune  that  the  quick-won  friends  were  dis- 
posed to  take  him  as  he  was,  without  a  thought  of  that 
which  he  was  not. 

He  was  under  bookkeeper  in  a  wholesale  house  down- 
town, and  it  was  clear  to  me  at  the  outset  that  he  would 
never  be  anything  else — unless  he  lost  his  job!  But  there 
seemed  to  be  no  likelihood  of  that.  He  kept  regular 
hours  apparently  and,  no  matter  what  his  inclination 
may  have  been,  his  lack  of  money  was  a  safeguard 
against  "living  high!"  In  New  York  one  cannot  travel 
far  on  a  salary  like  his. 

What  the  salary  was — and  other  leading  facts  of  his 
young  life — he  told  me  before  he  had  been  in  the  house 
two  weeks.  And  although  I  was  not  particularly  inter- 
ested in  what  he  said,  although  I  smiled  in  consciousness 
of  five  years'  seniority,  still,  after  Billy's  reticence,  this 
young  man's  frankness  was  refreshing;   and   I  agreed 

287 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

with  him  that  the  refusal  of  his  * '  boss' '  to  "  give  him  a 
raise  New  Year's"  was,  to  say  the  least,  reprehensible. 

"And  it  would  be  tougher  for  little  Jimmie  than  it 
is,"  he  said,  one  Sunday  afternoon  later  in  the  winter 
when  he  was  in  my  room,  "if  it  wasn't  for  grandmother 
up  in  the  country.  She  gives  me  an  allowance,  or  else 
I'd  be  boarding  at  the  jail. "  Both  of  Wolcott's  parents 
were  dead,  so  I  was  informed,  and  the  grandmother  had 
brought  up  the  boy,  alternating  between  the  extremes  of 
indulgence  and  cruelty. 

"Why,  I  got  so  many  lickings  when  I  was  a  kid  that 
anybody  could  stick  pins  into  me,"  he  declared,  "and 
I'd  never  know  it.  And  then  after  licking  me  within  an 
inch  of  my  life — the  old  lady  was  well  preserved  and 
knew  how  to  cut  a  switch  and  how  to  use  it,  too — she 
would  turn  round  and  kiss  me  and  call  me  'her  angel 
boy. '  Of  the  two  I  think  that  was  the  worst.  Only  it 
always  ended  up  with  fried  chicken  and  cream-puffs  for 
supper,"  he  smiled  reminiscently,  "so  the  days  I  got  a 
licking  had  some  bright  spots  after  all. ' ' 

He  explained  that  he  moved  to  this  boarding  house 
to  please  his  grandmother.  "She's  as  straight-laced  as 
they  make  'em,  and  set!  Say,  honest,  her  prejudice  is 
something  fierce.  If  she  once  gets  an  idea  into  her 
head,  nothing  can  get  it  out.  I  lived  in  Fourteenth 
Street  for  awhile,  and  she  was  on  pins  and  needles  all  the 
time." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  Fourteenth  Street?" 

'  *  Matter  nothing, ' '  he  replied.  "  It's  all  to  the  good ; 
cheap,  too,  and  I  could  walk  to  business — and  that  saved 
car  fare.  But  grandmother  threw  a  fit.  You  see,  one 
time  when  she  was  in  New  York,  back  in  the  early  nine- 
ties, the  Seven  Sutherland  Sisters  had  a  store  in  Four- 
teenth Street  near  Broadway,  with  a  lot  of  girls  with 
their  hair  hanging  down  their  back  parading  ^n  the 
window.  Grandmother  was  hoofing  it  from  Fourth  Ave- 
nue to  Macy's — she  was  always  in  too  big  a  hurry  to 

288 


JIM 

wait  for  the  crosstown  cars — and  she  took  one  look! — 
and  hiked  back  to  Connecticut  just  as  soon  as  she  had 
bought  her  three  dollars  and  sixty-seven  cents  worth  of 
dry  goods.  You  see,  she  thought  the  Sutherland  racket 
was  some  rotten  show  or  other.  She  was  too  pig-headed 
to  investigate — and  the  girls  in  the  window  were  prob- 
ably giving  away  samples  of  the  hair  restorer,  too — but 
it  queered  Fourteenth  Street  with  her  for  good  and  all. 

"So  when  1,  not  knowing  anything  then  about  this 
thing,  took  a  room  down  there,  grandmother  threw  fits ; 
she  threw  'em  first  in  letters,  and  quoted  Scripture  at  me. 
And  when  I  went  home  for  over  Sunday  now  and  then 
she  would  give  me  a  double  dose.  The  very  sight  of  me 
seemed  to  bring  back  those  girls  of  the  vintage  of  eigh- 
teen-ninety-two,  though  goodness  knows  I  don't  look 
like  'em.  And  they're  probably  wearing  wings — or  wigs 
— by  now.  But  anyway,  she  wanted  me  to  move:  move 
at  once  and  move  uptown !  She  seemed  to  think-  New 
York  got  better  the  farther  north  you  went.  But  I  told 
her — it  was  the  truth — I  was  too  poor  to  move ;  that  it 
would  cost  a  fortune  in  shoe  leather  for  me  to  live  up- 
town, for  of  course,  I'd  never  have  car  fare  any  week 
later  than  Tuesday  afternoon. 

* '  But  she  kept  on  chewing  the  rag.  And  when  I  went 
home  Thanksgiving,  I  told  her  she  needn't  ever  look  for 
me  again;  that  I  had  put  up  with  her  nagging  just  as 
long  as  I  was  going  to ;  that  she  was  suggesting  things 
to  me,  throwing  temptation  in  my  way,  and  a  lot  of  stuff 
like  that. 

"That  settled  it  for  grandmother;  she  made  up  her 
mind  I  was  going  to  the  devil  sure.  But  the  old  lady 
was  foxy :  from  then  till  traintime  she  never  said  another 
word  about  Fourteenth  Street.  She  told  me  how  she 
trusted  me,  and  she  gave  me  enough  good  things  to  eat 
to  keel  up  a  dozen  men.  But  after  I  was  gone,  she  got 
into  her  goloshes  and  went  moochin'  round  the  neigh- 
borhood—I know  as  well  as  if  I'd  seen  her— carrying  her 

289 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

knitting  for  a  blind ;  and  then,  after  knitting  and  talking 
foreign  missions  for  a  spell,  she'd  pin  folks  down  and 
oblige  'em  to  give  up  all  they  knew  or  guessed  at  about 
boarding  houses  in  New  York.  And  I'll  swear  she  told 
the  whole  caboodle,"  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed,  * '  that  she  was  trying  to  find  '  a  safe  place  for 
Jim'!" 

"So  she  thinks  this  place  is  'safe'?"  I  asked,  eager 
to  hear  the  rest  of  it. 

"She  does.  It  seems  somebody  in  the  village  had  a 
friend  who  had  a  friend  who  once  upon  a  time  boarded 
in  this  house.  Grandmother  finally  got  the  landlady's 
address,  wrote  to  her,  and  engaged  a  room  for  me  just  as 
if  I'd  been  a  deaf  mute — or  a  girl. " 

"Girls  engage  their  own  rooms,  thank  you,"  I  re- 
torted, with  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  you.  Duchess,"  and  he  made  me  a 
low,  bow.  "And  then,  the  first  I  knew,  I  got  one  of 
those  half -page  letters  that]  make  you  wonder  when  you 
open  'em  just  what  you've  done  now.  And  she  gave  me 
my  orders :  I  was  to  move  double  quick  to  this  address 
where  my  room  was  all  engaged ;  and  she  said  she  would 
give  me  an  allowance  to  cover  the  extra  cost  of  living 
here.  That  was  what  cinched  it — the  allowance!"  He 
gazed  meditatively  at  the  ceiling  through  the  haze  of  his 
cigar, 

"I  can  imagine  how  that  hurt." 

' '  You  see  my  mother  was  her  daughter  and  she  mar- 
ried Dad  against  the  old  lady's  express  command.  Dad 
wasn't  any  great  shakes,  I  guess;  anyway  he  wasn't  one 
of  these  Captains  of  Industry  you  hear  about.  But  he's 
dead  now,  so  why  chew  the  rag?  But  gi-andmother  can't 
see  it.  When  she's  mad  at  me  she  tells  me  I  take  after 
him,  and  that  she  expects  to  see  me  in  the  gutter  yet; 
and  that  I'm  not  going  to  have  any  of  her  money  to 
throw  away.  Not  that  there's  much  of  it,"  he  went  on 
quickly.     "It  wouldn't  take  me  long.     And  then,  after 

290 


JIM 

roasting  Dad,  she'll  turn  round  and  tell  me,  if  I  happen 
to  do  something  to  suit,  that  I'm  just  like  all  her  folks. 
Can  you  beat  it?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"At  any  rate,  she  has  got  me  away  from  Fourteenth 
Street  now.  But  she  won't  be  satisfied  till  she  has  been 
down  here  to  inspect  this  place.  Say,  if  you  see  an  old 
lady  coming  down  the  street  some  day  all  dressed  up  like 
a  broken  arm,  you  may  know  it's  grandmother.  I 
think,"  he  surveyed  me  critically,  "she  would  approve 
of  you. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  don't  think  I'd  approve  of  her." 

"You  don't  have  to,"  he  laughed.  "All  you  have  to 
do  is  approve  of  me. ' ' 

But  I  couldn't  entirely.  In  him  I  saw  little  trace  of 
qualities  which  I  much  admired  in  man:  self-reliance, 
determination,  energy.  In  my  eyes,  his  lack  of  ambition 
was  a  serious  defect.  To  be  content  with  the  position  of 
under  bookkeeper  and  to  glory  in  the  fact  that  his  grand- 
mother helped  to  pay  his  board  and  clothe  him,  stamped 
him,  even  at  twenty-two,  I  thought,  as  one  in  whom  I 
could  never  take  much  interest.  But  that  was  no  draw- 
back :  I  was  weary  of  being  interested  in  men.  In  each 
case  my  sympathy  had  been  so  misplaced  that  it  was 
almost  a  relief  to  meet  a  young  man  now  whose  weak- 
nesses were  obvious.  "At  all  events,  I  know  the  worst  of 
him, ' '  I  said. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  did  not  ignore  the  good.  Aside 
from  the  attractive  qualities  I  have  mentioned,  Jim 
Wolcott  always  looked  immaculate :  as  clean  and  whole- 
some as  if  he  took  a  bath  every  hour  or  so.  And  although 
his  grandmother  paid  for  them,  he  did  wear  good  clothes ; 
and  he  wore  them  well.  His  good  looks  were  his  own, 
and  of  them,  too,  he  appeared  unconscious.  On  the 
whole  he  was  decidedly  a  young  man  to  whom  any  girl  at 
first  sight  would  be  drawn. 

Whether  she  liked  him  when  he  began  to  talk,  would 
291 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

depend  on  several  things :  to  me,  inured  to  the  serious 
side  of  life,  accustomed  from  the  start  to  fight  my  own 
battles  and  familiar  with  many  tragedies,  a  talk  with  Jim 
Wolcott  was  invigorating.  He  was  as  breezy  as  his 
slang,  as  carefree  as  a  child.  I  would  come  home  from 
the  office  weary  and  depressed.  But  the  minute  I  saw 
him,  I  cast  off  instinctively  the  mantle  of  fatigue  and 
donned  mentally  what  he  himself  would  have  denominated 
my  ' '  glad  rags. ' '  The  very  fact  that  he  knew  nothing 
of  my  perplexities,  that  he  couldn't  have  understood 
them  if  he  tried,  banished  them  from  my  own  mind. 

I  have  said  that  he  was  a  favorite  with  everybody  in 
the  boarding  house;  indeed,  he  reconciled  the  rest  of  us 
to  each  other's  society.  In  the  dining-room  there  was 
now  an  air  of  conviviality  that  at  times  reminded  me  of 
the  atmosphere  at  Mrs.  Miggs's,  though  the  quality  of 
the  talk  was  far  inferior.     But  it  is  undeniable  that  the 

house  in  West  Seventy Street  had,  after  Jim  Wol- 

cott's  arrival  there,  a  good-fellowship  it  had  never  known 
before. 

By  and  by  if  people  didn't  know  where  to  find  him  of 
an  evening,  they  came  to  my  room  to  inquire.  Often  he 
and  I  were  there  alone :  but  it  often  happened,  too,  that 
others  kept  us  company ;  and  the  more  the  merrier,  from 
my  point  of  view.  Welcoming  Wolcott  as  diversion  my- 
self, I  had  no  wish  to  monopolize  him.  Frequently  I  in- 
vited other  boarders,  married  couples,  single  men  whose 
existence  I  had  scarcely  recognized  before,  and  especially 
a  couple  of  girls  who  were  younger  than  I  was,  to  spend 
the  evening  in  my  room. 

The  room  was  large  and  easily  lent  itself  to  the  uses 
of  boarding-house  hospitality.  I  always  had  something 
on  hand  to  eat;  and  the  men  could  smoke  and  talk  and 
joke.  The  presence  of  Wolcott — or,  as  everybody  called 
him,  "Jim" — was  sufficient  to  guarantee  entertamment 
of  some  sort. 

He  could  sing  a  little  and  play  on  the  mandolin  and 
292 


JIM 

recite  and  tell  stories  in  different  dialects ;  while  he  did 
none  of  these  things  remarkably  well — except  the  negro 
dialect — his  unaffected  manner,  his  evident  desire  to 
please  and,  above  all,  his  high  spirits,  were  irresistible. 

It  seemed  to  me  a  pity  that  for  his  own  sake  he  did 
not  turn  his  social  gifts  to  practical  account ;  or,  in  other 
words,  that  he  did  not  devote  as  much  attention  to  get- 
ting on  in  business  as  he  did  to  giving  pleasure  to  mere 
acquaintances :  but  it  was  not  in  his  make-up  to  do  so ; 
he  was  naturally  gregarious,  the  desire  to  entertain  was 
spontaneous,  his  success  came  of  itself.  Business  on  the 
other  hand,  was  nothing  but  a  grind ;  bookkeeping  was 
drudgery.  And  it  followed  as  matter  of  course  that  he 
tried  to  escape  the  grind,  and  submitted  to  the  drudgery 
only  in  so  far  as  it  was  inevitable.  The  necessaries  of 
life  and  his  liking  for  good  clothes  forced  him,  as  he 
expressed  it,  to  "hold  down  a  job. "  But  he  had  no  am- 
bition to  secure  a  better  hold,  to  make  himself  valuable 
to  the  firm  by  whom  he  was  employed;  hail-fellow-well- 
met  with  every  one,  he  would  divide  his  last  crust  with  a 
stranger,  and  for  his  next  mouthful  would  as  easily  look 
to  the  next  stranger  on  the  road. 

It  is  my  wish  to  present  Jim  as  he  was :  but  I  find 
myself  reluctant  to  speak  ill  of  him.  The  truth  is  I  did 
not  rate  him  very  high ;  however,  it  sometimes  happened 
when  perhaps  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  he  was  a 
weak  creature  with  nothing  to  recommend  him  but  a 
cheap-and-easy  friendliness  that  cost  him  no  effort  and 
was  bestowed  on  every  one,  he  would  surprise  me  by 
some  depth. 

For  instance,  when  his  grandmother  died — suddenly, 
of  pneumonia,  in  April — I  was  amazed  at  the  genuineness 
of  his  grief.  In  her  lifetime  he  spoke  with  such  gusto 
of  her  foibles,  with  such  uncomplimentary  references  to 
her  discipline ;  in  fact,  he  made  so  much  fun  of  her  and 
presented  her  in  such  an  unattractive  light,  that  I  ex- 
pected her  demise  would  call  forth  only  mourning  of  the 

293 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

most  perfunctory  sort.  But  he  was  so  chastened,  so  sub- 
dued the  evening  he  received  the  telegram  which  in- 
formed him  of  her  death,  that  I  scarcely  knew  what  to 
make  of  him.  He  was  going  home  that  evening;  but 
there  was  still  an  hour  before  traintime  and  he  spent  the 
hour  with  me. 

* '  Gee,  but  she  was  good  to  me, ' '  he  kept  repeating, 
as  he  paced  up  and  down.  "And  I  plagued  the  life  out 
of  her." 

This  change  of  attitude,  or  the  revelation  of  another 
side  of  a  character  which  I  fancied  I  had  fully  under- 
stood, made  me  feel  that  perhaps  I  hadn't  been  quite  just 
to  him  before.  And  something  else  disturbed  me  at  this 
time:  it  was  the  discovery  of  the  extent  to  which  I 
missed  him  while  he  was  away.  I  had  been  so  sure  that 
I  looked  upon  him  only  as  a  makeshift,  a  harmless  pre- 
caution to  keep  my  mind  from  dwelling  on  unpleasant 
memories,  as  a  relief  from  the  serious  side  of  life,  that  it 
was  disconcerting  to  realize  I  missed  him  on  his  own  ac- 
count. The  customary  "Hello,  Duchess,"  with  which 
he  greeted  me  when  I  came  home  at  night,  made  the 
silence  all  the  deeper  now ;  I  even  caught  myself  count- 
ing the  hours  till  his  return. 

Then  I  took  myself  to  task.  The  mere  fact  that  Jim 
Wolcott  was  five  years  my  junior  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient, the  way  I  felt  about  it  then,  to  bar  him  from 
serious  consideration,  even  had  he  been  eligible  other- 
wise. 

"But  he  isn't  eligible  and  he's  nothing  but  a  boy," 
said  I,  reading  a  letter  from  him  that  had  just  arrived. 
It  was  the  second  letter  in  two  days,  and  he  was  coming 
home  to-morrow.  One  of  the  married  men — the  one  who 
just  now  in  the  dining-room  had  gone  to  meet  the  post- 
man and,  after  a  glance  at  the  postmark  on  the  envelope 
handed  the  letter  on  to  me — had  commented  on  this. 
"Invite  me  to  the  wedding,  won't  you?"  he  called  after 
me,  as  I  left  the  room. 

294 


JIM 

I  pretended  not  to  hear,  but  the  question  made  me 
furious.  Why  couldn't  everybody  see  that  I  liked  Jim 
Wolcott  only  as  a  friend?  that  I  looked  upon  him  as  a 
boy,  not  as  a  man  whom  any  one  might  think  of  marry- 
ing? And  I  resolved,  as  I  went  upstairs  to  read  the  let- 
ter, that  I  would  put  an  end  to  this  nonsense.  If  I 
couldn't  be  good  friends  with  a  mere  boy  like  him  with- 
out having  people  joke  about  a  wedding,  then  we  would 
be  strangers  from  now  on. 

But  it  wasn't  a  stranger's  letter — it  wasn't  even  the 
letter  of  a  friend  that  I  was  holding  in  my  hand.  If  I 
had  picked  it  up  somewhere  without  knowing  who  wrote 
it,  or  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  I  should  have  called  it  a 
love-letter.  But  with  the  memory  of  Jim's  roguish  face 
before  me,  with  his  laughter  ringing  in  my  ears,  with 
the  recollection  of  the  banter  which  made  up  so  large  a 
part  of  our  daily  talk,  the  idea  was  absurd.  This  was 
only  some  new  joke  of  Jim's.  And  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  snub  the  boy  the  instant  he  came  home. 


CHAPTER  LI 
DRIFTING 

BUT  when  I  saw  him  next  he  wore  a  new  suit  of 
black,  and  there  was  sorrow  in  his  face.  There 
was  also  something  else  that  I  had  never  seen  in 
his  face  before,  though  all  he  said  was,  * '  Hello,  Duchess. ' ' 

And  I  answered  in  the  same  words  I  had  used  many 
times  before,  ' '  Hello,  Jim. ' '  But  there  was  a  difference, 
and  we  both  were  conscious  of  it. 

I  have  told  of  my  surprise  at  the  effect  on  him  of  his 
grandmother's  death;  I  couldn't  snub  him  now  when  he 
came  to  me  for  sympathy,  came  to  tell  me  all  the  details 
of  the  past  three  days ;  and  I  had  never  really  liked  him 
in  his  joking  half  so  well  as  I  liked  this  sober  boy.  But 
I  was  none  the  less  resolved  to  nip  at  once  any  budding 
sentiment.  If  he  had  only  been  some  one  else — not  any 
one  in  particular,  but  a  man  of  character,  of  ambition, 
of  suitable  age — how  gladly  would  I  have  welcomed 
what  I  saw.  But  he  wasn't  some  one  else.  He  was  Jim 
Wolcott,  and  five  years  younger  than  I  was.  Accord- 
ingly, just  as  soon  as  life  settled  down  to  the  old  routine, 
I  started  in  to  divert  his  interest. 

"Come  in,"  said  I,  one  stormy  evening  when  I  heard 
his  knock  upon  the  door.  I  was  fussing  with  some 
papers  at  my  desk  and  didn't  look  up  as  he  entered;  but 
out  of  the  comer  of  one  eye  I  saw  that  he  had  brought 
his  mandolin. 

"We're  going  to  have  a  real  literary  and  musical 
evening.  Duchess, ' '  he  announced. 

"All  right,"  said  I.  "I'll  go  get  Miss  Darley." 
296 


DRIFTING 

(She  was  a  girl  about  his  age  who  had  a  hall  room  on 
that  floor.)  "It's  raining  and  she's  sure  to  be  at 
home. ' ' 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  he,  planting  himself  in  front 
of  me.  "Will  you  kindly  tell  me  why  you  always  try  to 
drag  in  that  left-over  lemon  when  I'm  here?" 

' '  '  Left-over  lemon, '  "  I  said  the  words  after  him. 
"Why,  she's  younger  than  you  are.  And  you  know," 
smiling  up  at  him,  "that's  pretty  young." 

"Well,  you've  no  call  to  kick.  You're  nothing  but  a 
big  kid  yourself.  * ' 

"H'mph !     I'm  five  years  older  than  you  are. " 

"So  I've  heard  you  say  before, "  he  observed,  rubbing 
his  chin  reflectively.     ' '  It  seems  to  stick  in  your  crop. ' ' 

I  made  a  little  grimace.  "Age  is  the  least  of  my 
troubles.  But  it's  absurd  for  a  boy  like  you  to  be  wast- 
ing so  much  time  on  a  woman  of  my  years. " 

He  greeted  this  remark  as  if  it  were  the  best  kind  of 
a  joke.  "Excuse  me.  But  you  make  me  laugh. "  There 
was  a  pause,  then  he  went  on.  "We  may  as  well  settle 
this  age  thing  right  now.  It  cuts  no  ice.  You  suit  me 
down  to  the  ground  and  everybody  else  can  go  hang. 
See?  Now  listen  to  this,"  and  he  began  strumming  on 
his  mandolin.  When  he  had  gone  through  his  reper- 
toire, he  smoked,  and  gave  me,  while  I  sewed,  an  amus- 
ing account  of  the  happenings  of  the  day. 

Then  an  interruption  came:  one  of  the  married 
women  in  the  house  ran  in  to  show  me  her  new  hat. 
And  Jim — ^jolly,  genial  Jim,  whom  I  had  never  seen  out 
of  sorts  before — was  almost  rude  to  her.  I  made  every 
effort  to  detain  her,  but  Jim's  manner  offset  my  cordial- 
ity.    After  she  had  gone  I  spoke  to  him  about  it. 

He  pounded  an  unoffending  cushion.  "That  woman 
makes  me  tired!" 

"Why?"  I  slowly  bit  my  thread.  "I  thought  you 
liked  her." 

"I  like  her  well  enough  when  she  stays  where  she  be- 
20  297 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

longs,"  he  answered,  irritably.  "What  with  your  trying 
to  drag  the  whole  bunch  into  this  room  and  their  coming 
of  their  own  accord,  it's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  get  two 
words  with  you  alone. ' ' 

I  laughed  and  pointed  to  the  clock.  "And  you've 
been  here  since  a  quarter  after  eight."  It  was  now  a 
little  before  ten. 

"Does  that  mean  you  want  me  to  go?" 

"Why— "  I  hesitated. 

But  he  jumped  up,  scowling.  "You  needn't  say  it 
any  plainer.  Guess  I  know  when  I'm  in  the  way." 
And  he  slammed  the  door  behind  him  and  went  stamping 
up  the  stairs  to  his  own  room.  For  some  time  I  mused 
over  his  outburst;  then  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 
"It  solves  the  difficulty,  anyway,"  I  thought. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  folded  piece  of  paper  was  slipped 
underneath  my  door;  a  little  while  I  left  it  there,  but 
curiosity  conquered  in  the  end.  I  picked  it  up,  unfolded 
it,  and  this  is  what  I  read : 

"Dear  Duchess: 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  cross,  and  I  can't  go  to  bed  without 
saying  so.  It's  only  that  I  hate  folks  for  butting  in 
when  I  want  you  to  myself.  Good-night,  Peaches  and 
Cream.  "Jim." 

The  next  day  was  Wednesday  and  I  kept  thinking, 
"Well,  he  won't  be  here  this  evening,  at  any  rate." 
For  some  time  Wednesday  evening  had  been  a  joke  with 
us.  After  dinner  Wednesday,  Jim  invariably  stopped  in 
my  room  on  his  way  out  of  the  house  and  tried  to  make 
me  curious  about  his  Wednesday  evening  ' '  date. ' ' 

But  I  never  inquired.  In  the  first  place,  I  didn't 
care:  then,  too,  I  suspected,  from  his  eagerness  to  have 
me  ask  where  he  was  going,  that  he  wouldn't  tell  me 
anyway.  So  this  evening  when  he  appeared  ready  to  go 
out,  I  said,  "Oh,  it's  Wednesday  again,  isn't  it?" 

298 


DRIFTING 

He  nodded.  "Now,  honest,  don't  you  wish  you  knew 
where  I  am  headed  for?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  answered  condescend- 
ingly, "Why,  my  dear  boy,  that  is  your  own  affair." 

"There  you  go  with  'boy'  again.  See  here,  I  wish 
you'd  cut  that  out. "  Then  he  pleaded  so  earnestly  that 
I  would ' '  treat  him  halfway  decent, ' '  that  he  almost  con- 
vinced me  I  had  been  unkind. 

To  cut  him  short,  however,  and  stand  my  own  ground, 
too,  I  said,  "Run  along,  Mr.  Man,  or  you'll  be  late." 

"I'll  tell  you  where  I'm  going,"  he  volunteered. 
"I'm  going  to  a  dance." 

"You  are?"  I  cried,  regarding  him  with  envy. 
"What  luck!" 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  agreed.  ' '  I  suppose  I  am  in  luck  to  have 
the  price. ' ' 

"Oh,  so  it's  a  public  ball?  Like  the  Arion,  or  the 
Charity  Ball?" 

Jim  grinned.  "Not  enough  like  'em  so  you'd  notice 
it,  I  guess. ' '  He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  were  wondering 
whether  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  ' '  In  plain  Eng- 
lish, Duchess, ' '  he  announced  at  last,  watching  to  see  how 
I  would  receive  the  newi,  "I'm  going  to  the  Wednes- 
day evening  'reception'  of  a  mick  dancing  school  down- 
town." And  he  showed  me  a  ticket  that  had  been 
punched  several  times. 

"What's  the  difference,"  said  I,  "so  long  as  it  is  de- 
cent? I'd  rather  dance  than  eat,  myself.  Only  I  never 
have  the  chance.  You  lucky — "  I  was  going  to  say 
"boy"  again,  but  remembered  just  in  time.  "You  lucky 
fellow!     How  long  have  you  been  going  there?" 

"All  winter.  I  didn't  dare  to  tell  you. "  He  looked 
at  me  dubiously.  "Say,  Duchess,  you  wouldn't  go  down 
there  with  me,  would  you  ?' ' 

I  rearranged  the  magazines.  "Not  unless  I  was  in- 
vited, ' '  I  replied. 

He  took  me  by  the  hand  and  turned  me  round  facing 
299 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

him.  "I  want  to  see  if  you  mean  it,"  he  explained. 
"I'd  give  anything  to  have  you  go.  But  I'm  afraid — 
well,  you  see,  they're  not  your  sort.  Most  of  the  girls 
are  waitresses,  I  guess,  or  shop  girls  or  manicures. ' ' 

"I  don't  care, "  said  I.  "We're  all  made  of  the  same 
stuff.  Of  course,  I  should  prefer  a  dance  at  a  private 
house.  But  I  don't  know  any  people  in  New  York,  so  if 
I  dance  at  all  it  must  be  in  some  place  like  that.  But, ' ' 
I  stopped  aghast,  "it  is  six  years  and  over  since  I  have 
danced  a  step.  Perhaps  you'd  rather  have  the  shop  girls, 
after  all." 

"Some  of  'em  are  cooks,"  he  grinned.  "There  was 
a  woman  there  one  night — and  if  she  didn't  weigh  three 
hundred  pounds  I'll  eat  my  hat — that  grabbed  me  as  if  I 
was  a  flapjack  she  was  yanking  off  the  stove.  One  of 
the  assistants  asked  me  to  dance  with  her — because  I'm 
such  a  good-natured -looking  cuss,  I  guess,  but — "  with 
an  emphatic  gesture,  "never  again." 

"I  won't  have  to  dance  with  strangers,  will  I?"  I  in- 
quired, uncertain  what  might  be  the  etiquette  of  this 
realm  unknown. 

Jim  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  downtown. 
"Just  let  me  catch  one  of  that  bunch  trying  to  dance 
with  you !     You  and  I  will  flock  by  ourselves. ' ' 

"What  time  do  we  have  to  start?"  said  I. 

"Any  time,"  said  he.  "I  suppose  you  want  me  to 
clear  out  of  here?" 

I  nodded. 

"Well,  don't  wear  your  best  clothes,"  he  cautioned, 
as  he  turned  back  from  the  door.  "There'll  be  an  awful 
rabble  there. ' ' 

"All  right.  I'll  meet  you  in  the  parlor  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

That  evening  was  the  first  of  many  like  it,  though 
later  we  avoided  Wednesday  and  chose  another  evening 
when  the  hall  was  less  likely  to  be  thronged. 

How  large  a  place  is  filled  by  an  "academy"  like  the 
300 


DRIFTING 

one  we  patronized  is  unknown  to  the  great  mass  of  well- 
to-do  New  Yorkers  who  meet  in  one  another's  homes. 
There  were  disadvantages  about  dancing  in  such  a  place. 
But  it  was  the  only  place  we  had:  it  was  eminently 
respectable,  it  was  cheap,  the  floor  was  excellent,  and, 
in  the  opinion  of  us  both,  it  was  vastly  better  than  not 
to  dance  at  all. 

Jim  danced  very  well.  In  childhood,  he,  like  myself, 
had  been  taught  to  believe  that  dancing  was  wicked ;  his 
grandmother  and  my  Aunt  Jane  were  at  one  upon  that 
point:  consequently,  when  we  had  opportunity  to  decide 
things  for  ourselves,  both  of  us  had  taken  up  the  pastime 
with  great  zest 

My  life  was  now  so  different  from  what  it  had  been 
before  that  sometimes  I  used  to  wonder  if  I  were  really 
the  same  girl,  I  was  living  on  the  surface  now,  and  it 
was  very  restful  after  my  experience  of  the  depths :  once 
in  an  agreeable  environment,  I  seemed  to  have  the  power 
to  cast  off  the  shadows  of  the  past.  Jim  wasn't  every- 
thing my  heart  desired,  even  as  a  friend — the  only  light 
in  which  thus  far  I  would  consider  him — but  he  was  a 
dear  boy,  I  told  myself ;  and  after  so  much  beating  against 
the  bars,  it  was  a  novelty  to  drift  idly  on  from  day  to 
day  and  have  some  one  think  me  charming,  no  matter 
what  I  did. 


CHAPTER   LII 
"YOU'VE  GOT  TO  MARRY  ME" 

ONE  Sunday  in  the  spring  when  we  were  going  to 
explore  a  bit  of  country  to  the  north  of  us,  I  sug- 
gested a  certain  line  of  surface  cars  as  the  best 
means  of  getting  there.  The  day  was  beautiful,  and  I 
said  much  to  Jim  of  the  long,  pleasant  ride  that  lay  be- 
fore us  in  the  open  car.  Well,  it  was  long  and  pleasant, 
there  is  no  doubt  of  that ;  but  the  car  branched  off  some- 
where when  I  least  expected  it,  and  finally  landed  us  in 
an  open  lot,  miles  from  the  destination  I  had  had  in 
mind. 

As  we  stood  out  in  the  open,  just  the  two  of  us,  in 
that  bare  stretch  of  land,  Jim  looked  around  him  thought- 
fully, as  if  trying  to  hit  upon  some  excuse  for  our  pres- 
ence there ;  then  he  gave  it  up  and  with  a  smile  remarked : 
"Say,  Duchess,  you  aren't  much  on  planning  these 
Cooks'  Tours,  are  you  ?' ' 

"No,"  said  I,  "and  I  ought  to  have  known  better 
than  to  try. ' ' 

Thereafter,  Jim  was  guide  on  all  our  expeditions ;  and 
there  were  many  of  them.  Throughout  the  summer  we 
spent  together  many  of  the  Saturday  half- holidays,  the 
Sundays,  and  many  of  the  evenings,  too.  That  he  was 
fond  of  me,  I  knew ;  but  I  thought  it  was  only  a  passing 
fancy.  As  such  I  made  light  of  it :  for  instance,  he  was 
always  jokingly  asking  me  to  marry  him,  and  the  idea 
was  so  absurd  that  I  always  laughed  at  him.  Once,  I 
remember,  when  we  were  dancing,  he  whispered  in  my 
ear,  "I'd  like  to  waltz  through  life  with  you." 

302 


"YOU'VE  GOT  TO  MARRY  ME" 

"Ah,  Jim,"  said  I,  more  seriously  than  I  often  spoke 
to  him,  ' '  life  is  something  different  from  a  waltz. ' ' 

"Well,  then,"  he  replied,  "make  it  a  two-step.  I 
don't  care,  so  long  as  you're  my  partner." 

His  free-and-easy  manner  of  turning  everything  into  a 
joke  threw  me  off  my  guard.  To  my  mind,  marriage 
was  a  serious  thing,  and  the  feeling  it  implied  was  very 
different  from  the  gayety  with  which  he  assured  me  every 
little  while  that  I  "could  pack  my  clothes  in  his  trunk 
any  time,"  that  I  was  "the  whole  outfit,"  and  that 
"there  wasn't  any  other  dress  goods  on  the  map. "  But 
it  was,  indeed,  just  because  of  his  light-heartedness — and 
also  because  there  was  no  one  else  on  my  horizon — that 
I  spent  so  much  time  with  him.  I  wanted  to  blot  out  the 
memory  of  the  past,  and  his  society  was  the  best  means 
at  my  disposal  to  that  end. 

When  we  visited  a  summer  garden  or  amusement 
park,  we  always  danced,  if  dancing  was  a  feature  of  the 
place ;  and  we  ate  peanuts,  rode  in  the  merry-go-round, 
and  went  through  the  entire  program  of  "stunts." 
The  amount  of  money  that  Jim  spent  troubled  me,  and  I 
said  so ;  but  my  words  had  no  effect.  He  had  received  a 
little  money  from  his  grandmother,  and  was  to  have  a 
little  more  when  the  estate  was  settled ;  but  in  my  opin- 
ion he  was  not  only  generous,  he  was  extravagant.  In 
vain  I  endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  start  a  bank  ac- 
count :  he  only  brought  me  an  extra  box  of  candy  when  I 
mentioned  economy !  Several  times  I  refused  to  accom- 
pany him  to  places  of  amusement  which  I  felt  were  be- 
yond his  means.  But  he  either  went  alone  and  reported 
later  that  he  "spent  three  times  as  much  because  he  was 
so  blue, "  or  he  remained  at  home  and  found  fault  with  me 
because  I  "kept  the  two  of  us  from  having  a  good  time. " 
In  the  end  I  usually  went  with  him :  it  was  easier  that 
way. 

For  one  thing,  there  was  less  danger  in  public  of  his 
being  sentimental ;  and  though  on  all  occasions  I  aimed  to 

303 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

steer  clear  of  dangerous  ground,  it  wasn't  always  easy, 
as  time  went  on,  to  laugh  at  him  when  he  attempted  to 
make  love  to  me.  He  was  more  serious  about  it  now 
and,  aside  from  opposing  him,  I  had  to  struggle  with  my 
own  inclination  to  listen  to  what  he  said.  Long  months 
of  propinquity  were  having  their  effect ;  and  as  well  the 
persistence  of  this  good-looking,  wholesome,  light- 
hearted  young  man  who,  I  had  decided  long  before,  was 
so  ineligible.  More  and  more  his  defects  were  kept  in 
the  background :  only  the  best  was  presented  to  my  view. 
And  he  was  always  there. 

On  Labor  Day  we  went  out  to  New  Jersey,  tramped 
in  the  country  all  day  long,  and  took  luncheon  in  mid- 
aftemoon  at  a  primitive  restaurant  underneath  the  trees. 
All  day  Jim  was  in  the  best  of  spirits,  flitting  like  some 
gay  butterfly  from  one  subject  to  another  as  he  talked  to 
me;  it  was  all  amusing,  what  he  said,  and  the  serene 
September  afternoon,  full  of  pulsing  light,  seemed  to 
smile  back  at  us  in  our  joy. 

On  the  way  home  in  the  evening,  he  was  very  quiet. 
The  boat  was  crowded,  and  for  lack  of  seats  we  leaned 
against  the  rail.  I  remember  how  black  the  water  was 
as  we  gazed  down  at  it ;  and  how  New  York  loomed  up 
across  the  river;  and  how  the  new  moon's  crescent  tipped 
against  the  tops  of  the  high  buildings  that  stood  out 
against  the  sky.  Neither  of  us  spoke.  But  the  tall  fig- 
ure at  my  side  bent  toward  me  protectingly,  and,  under 
cover  of  the  darkness,  a  hand  stole  over  mine  that  rested 
on  the  rail ;  thus  in  silence,  but  with  the  throbbing  sense 
of  each  other's  nearness,  we  went  home. 

When  we  reached  the  house  and  I  stepped  into  my 
own  room  from  the  hall,  Jim  followed  me.  A  little 
unsteadily  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  light  the  gas  for 
you. ' '  But  once  the  door  was  closed,  he  took  me  in  his 
arms. 

And  I  made  no  effort  to  resist.  I  was  so  tired  and  he 
was  so  strong,  that,  in  the  haziness  of  the  moment,  his 

304 


"YOU'VE  GOT  TO  MARRY  ME" 

arms  seemed  to  have  been  made  just  to  shelter  me. 
Heretofore  I  had  kept  him  at  a  distance ;  but  now  to  be 
caught  up  in  his  embrace,  to  kiss  him  for  good  night, 
appeared  the  one  right  ending  for  our  day;  even  the 
strangeness  of  being  there  with  him  in  the  dark  alone,  of 
which  I  was  conscious  at  the  very  first,  was  soon  trans- 
formed into  something  natural,  something  that  should 
be.  And  as  I  heard  his  voice  in  tremulous  intensity,  I 
wound  my  arms  the  closer  round  his  neck. 

At  last  a  step  out  in  the  hall  recalled  me  to  myself. 
It  was  only  some  one  on  the  way  upstairs  without  any 
knowledge  or  any  thought  of  us.  But  I  started  back 
and  listened. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  breathed  Jim,  and  drew  me  close 
again. 

But  the  spell  was  broken  now.  Wriggling  my  way 
free,  I  faltered,  "Aren't — you — going  to  light  the  gas?" 

For  answer  he  struck  a  match.  With  the  gas  blazing 
high,  the  familiar  aspect  of  the  room  proclaimed  the  old 
established  order  of  the  commonplace:  the  carpet  was 
just  as  worn,  the  clock  ticked  with  the  same  monotony. 
But  we  were  different. 

I  stood  by  the  table  taking  off  my  hat ;  then  I  laid  the 
hatpins  down  straight  and  even  in  a  row.  I  hadn't 
looked  at  Jim. 

But  now  he  came  close  to  me  and  took  both  my 
hands.  ' '  Duchess, ' '  he  said,  huskily,  and  looking  up  I 
saw  that  he  was  very  pale,  "you've  got  to  marry  me." 

For  the  moment  to  me,  too,  that  seemed  the  next 
step.  With  his  kisses  on  my  lips  I  couldn't  speak  as  I 
had  spoken  heretofore;  but  neither  could  I  agree  un- 
thinkingly.    "What  would  we  live  on,  Jim?"  I  said. 

"We  would  live  as  other  folks  do. "  And  the  serious- 
ness of  his  manner,  the  sincerity  of  his  tone,  convinced 
me  for  the  time.  "If  I  had  you  to  work  for,  it  would 
make  a  man  of  me. ' ' 

As  he  spoke,  the  clock  struck ;  and  realization  of  the 
305 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

lateness  of  the  hour  drove  all  else  from  my  mind.  "It's 
eleven  o'clock,"  I  cried.  "We  can't  settle  this  to- 
night." 

"It  is  settled,"  he  replied.  "We're  going  to  get  mar- 
ried." 

"Won't  you  please  go,  Jim?"  I  pleaded.  "It's  so 
late." 

"I'll  go  just  as  soon  as  you  kiss  me  good  night  again 
— the  way  a  Duchess  ought  to  that's  properly  engaged. 
Here,  sweetheart." 

If  there  had  been  in  Jim  that  night  any  uncertainty, 
any  disposition  to  leave  the  decision  in  my  hands,  he 
could  have  pleaded  till  doomsday  without  persuading  me. 
But  it  was  his  assumption  of  authority,  coupled  with  my 
belief  in  his  affection  for  me,  that  won  the  victory. 

For  a  long  moment  lifted  in  his  arms — how  I  gloried 
in  his  strength — I  remembered  that  through  the  words  he 
had  just  spoken  I  belonged  to  him.  And  the  panorama 
of  the  past — all  the  longing,  the  denial — swam  before  my 
eyes.     "  But  this  at  last  is  mine. " 

Gently  he  set  me  down  and  stood  looking  at  me  and 
brushing  back  the  hair  from  my  forehead.  At  last  he 
opened  the  door.     "Good  night,"  he  said. 

"Good  night,"  I  whispered,  and  watched  him  half- 
way up  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  LIII 
"DAMN  THAT  MEDDLESOME  OLD  MAID" 

IF  Jim  had  had  his  way  in  the  next  few  days,  every- 
body in  the  house  would  have  been  told  of  our  en- 
gagement. But  on  that  point  I  stood  firm.  "Wait 
till  our  plans  are  made.     We  must  look  before  we  leap. ' ' 

"We  didn't  look  the  other  evening.  And  that's  the 
best  day's  work  I  ever  did. " 

This  reference  troubled  me :  I  felt  that  I  was  bound  to 
Jim,  and  yet  the  more  I  thought  of  marriage,  the  more  it 
seemed  impossible.  Aside  from  the  obstacles  I  have 
mentioned,  there  was  another  that  disturbed  me  most  of 
all :  he  had  told  me  recently  that  his  father  died  a  drunk- 
ard's death. 

"I  don't  dare  to  drink,"  he  said,  recounting  the  fam- 
ily history.  "If  I  once  began  it  wouldn't  need  a  fortune- 
teller to  dope  out  the  finish. ' ' 

I  shuddered,  remembering  Theodore  Prime  and  his 
caution  the  day  I  saw  him  last:  "Don't  you  ever  let  any- 
body fool  you  with  that  pipe  dream  about  'reforming 
drunkards, '  "  he  had  said.  So  now  to  lay  the  foundation 
for  the  whole  structure  of  one's  life  and,  perhaps,  of 
other  lives  as  well,  on  what  seemed  to  be  but  shifting 
sand,  terrified  me  when  I  was  alone  and  could  calmly 
think  things  out. 

In  Jim's  presence,  there  was  little  opportunity  to 
think :  he  took  everything  for  granted  in  his  blithesome 
way.  If  I  objected  to  his  sitting  around  and  keeping  me 
from  work,  he  had  an  answer  ready :  if  it  wasn't  a  button 
that  he  wanted  me  to  sew  on  his  coat,  it  was  a  glove  to 

307 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

mend,  or  some  other  pretext  to  be  in  my  room.  The 
people  in  the  house,  seeming  to  understand  that  marriage 
was  imminent,  gave  him  full  opportunity  to  see  me 
alone. 

One  evening,  he  was  insisting  for  the  hundredth 
time  that  we  must  be  married  soon.  "What  are  we 
going  to  live  on?'*  I  inquired,  also  for  the  hundredth 
time. 

' '  Oh,  bread — and  cheese — and  kisses, ' '  he  replied. 

"Well,  bread  and  cheese,  at  least,  cost  money." 

"What  of  it?  When  we're  broke  we'll  cut  'em  out," 
he  said.  "And  I'll  feed  you  kisses.  See,  this  way," 
and  he  caught  me  in  his  arms. 

It  was  always  so:  if  I  objected  to  any  plan  of  his,  he 
would  stop  my  mouth  with  kisses  and — I  have  set  out  to 
tell  the  truth — and  so  I  must  confess  that  this  method 
silenced  me  for  the  time,  at  least. 

It  is  easy  enough  for  any  one  whose  own  life  has  been 
happier,  all  the  sides  of  whose  nature  have  been  satis- 
fied, to  say  that  I  was  weak:  that  if  my  better  judgment 
told  me  marriage  with  this  man  was  unadvisable,  I 
should  have  dismissed  him  once  for  all.  Well,  I  do  not 
dispute  it.  I  only  know  that  I  was  twenty-eight  years 
old  and  this  was  the  first'  time  in  all  my  life  there  was 
any  one  to  care  for  me ;  the  first  time  there  was  no  ach- 
ing sense  of  being  left  out,  of  missing  what  other  people 
had.  And  only  a  woman  with  the  same  temperament 
and  experience  knows  what  that  means. 

It  is,  indeed,  my  own  contention  that  a  woman, 
situated  as  I  was,  a  woman  who  has  been  alone  for  years 
in  a  city  like  New  York,  where  from  the  nature  of  the 
case  she  is  shut  out  from  the  normal  experiences  of 
young  womanhood,  is  pitifully  handicapped  when  a 
crisis  comes.  The  hunger  for  affection,  the  craving  to 
be  like  other  women  and  have  what  other  women  have — 
I  am  not  speaking  of  superficial  matters  but  of  the  primal 
needs — is  so  strong  that  it  outweighs  all  else.    Of  course, 

308 


**DAMN  THAT  MEDDLESOME  OLD  MAID" 

a  starving  creature  is  not  the  best  judge  of  food.  She 
takes  what  she  can  get — and  thanks  God  for  that. 

But  it  isn't  entirely — or  even  chiefly,  I  believe — the 
desire  of  being  loved  that,  when  defeated,  brings  such 
devastation  in  its  train.  It  is  the  yearning  to  give,  to 
help,  to  serve.  It  is  the  best  in  us  and  it  hurts  us 
most. 

So  let  the  reader  who  in  his  own  experience  knows 
nothing  of  all  this,  smile  in  the  easy  superiority  of  a 
well-rounded  life  and  say,  "That  girl  was  a  fool!"  So 
be  it :  it  only  proves  my  point  that  a  big  city  like  New 
York  is  no  place  for  a  girl  alone. 

Much  is  said  and  rightly  of  the  strength  that  comes 
from  conflict,  of  the  influence  of  temptation  in  the  form- 
ing of  character.  We  all  know  that  the  individual  who 
aspires  to  be  "  wafted  to  the  skies  on  flowery  beds  of 
ease"  would  never  accomplish  much,  either  in  heaven  or 
on  earth.  But  the  flowery-beds-of-ease  proposition  is  not 
the  one  that  confronts  the  working  girl  in  the  city  of 
New  York.  She  will  find  there,  as  elsewhere,  plenty  of 
conflict  to  bring  out  whatever  strength  she  has.  But 
she  will  also  find — and  this  is  the  pith  of  all  I  have  to 
say — unnatural  conditions  of  existence  which,  far  from 
developing  character  (for  development  implies  harmony 
with  nature)  will  warp  and  weaken  what  might  be  fine 
and  strong. 

And  so  I  went  over  and  over  my  own  problem, 
buffeted  by  the  impulse  that  would  lead  me  straight  to 
Jim,  and  by  other  influences  that  would  lead  me  far  from 
him.  Even  had  I  wished  without  any  wavering  to  get 
rid  of  him,  I  could  not  send  him  from  the  house ;  it  was 
a  boarding  house,  and  he  had  just  as  much  right  there  as 
I  had.  He  understood  that  his  hold  on  me — which  he 
aimed  to  strengthen  every  day — was  due  in  the  first  in- 
stance to  the  accident  of  our  living  under  the  same  roof. 
Had  we  met  only  at  infrequent  intervals,  he  would  prob- 
ably have  had  no  interest  in  me ;  and  I  should  doubtless 

309 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

never  have  given  him  a  second  thought,  save  that  he  was 
good  looking  and  agreeable. 

But  seeing  him  almost  constantly,  and  seeing  no  one 
else — above  all  having  listened  to  him  once — I  could  not, 
so  it  seemed  to  me,  turn  a  deaf  ear  afterward.  A  kiss 
was  sacred  to  me ;  and  having  kissed  him  of  my  own  free 
will,  I  felt  that  I  belonged  to  him.  And  I  endeavored  to 
think  out  some  way  whereby  the  marriage  for  which  he 
pleaded — for  which  my  own  heart  pleaded,  too — might 
be  brought  about. 

I  had  always  believed  that  a  married  woman  had — or 
should  have — no  place  in  the  business  world :  that  she 
found  her  work,  her  joy,  in  caring  for  the  home  and 
family.  But  how  could  Jim,  who  was  scarcely  able  to 
provide  for  one,  take  care  of  both  of  us?  I  had  no 
money,  and  the  little  he  received  from  his  grandmother's 
estate  was  already  spent.  How  could  he  maintain  even 
the  simplest  home  ?  It  was  not  now  ambition,  not  long- 
ing for  luxury,  that  made  me  hesitate.  I  was  willing  to 
put  up  with  privations,  willing  to  do  my  share  to  build 
up  our  life  together,  if — if  I  could  only  make  myself  be- 
lieve that  the  attitude  of  the  man  himself  was  right :  that 
he  would  do  his  share.  Mrs.  Wells,  the  friend  who  by 
her  counsel  had  helped  me  once  before,  was  now  abroad, 
or  I  should  doubtless  have  talked  things  over  with  her. 
She  was  governess  in  a  family  that  traveled  much ;  in- 
deed, I  had  not  seen  her  since  the  beginning  of  my 
acquaintance  with  Jim. 

He  had  told  me  that  having  me  to  work  for  "would 
make  a  man  of  him":  I  wondered  if  it  would  turn  out 
that  way.  That  he  thought  so  I  believed,  but  that  was 
no  guarantee  against  mistake;  and  the  innate  tendency 
to  drink  I  could  not  ignore.  The  picture  of  Theodore 
Prime  the  day  I  lunched  with  him  was  ever  before  my 
eyes,  and  ringing  in  my  ears  was  the  caution  that  he 
spoke.  Prime's  mother,  so  he  told  me,  had  done  every- 
thing she  could  to  help  his  father :  but  it  did  no  good. 

310 


"DAMN  THAT  MEDDLESOME  OLD  MAID" 

Jim,  however,  was  not  in  such  case :  he  knew  his  danger 
and  avoided  drink.  If  I  could  be  sure,  I  told  myself,  that 
our  marriage  would  be  a  real  help  to  him,  that  it  would 
safeguard  him  against  his  father's  fate,  I  would  marry 
him  at  once. 

I  was  even  deliberating  resigning  my  position  and 
was  casting  about  meantime  for  some  work  that  I  could 
do  at  home,  for  I  knew  that  only  by  my  continuing  to 
earn,  for  a  time,  at  least,  would  it  be  possible  for  us  to 
marry ;  Jim  and  I  were  interviewing  agents  and  inspect- 
ing flats,  when  our  quest  was  interrupted  by  a  bad  cough 
that  kept  him  in  the  house.  To  be  sure  he  was  away 
from  business  only  a  day  or  two,  but  bad  weather  fol- 
lowed, and  I  urged  him  to  avoid  needless  exposure  till 
he  was  well  again. 

When  he  was  ailing,  he  appealed  to  my  sympathy  and 
affection  even  more  than  had  been  the  case  before.  So 
far  as  my  observation  goes,  all  men  when  they  are  ill  are 
like  small  boys:  and  to  the  mother-heart  in  every  woman 
small  boys  are  irresistible.  Jim,  moreover,  was  so  gen- 
tle and  uncomplaining,  so  appreciative  of  my  solicitude, 
that  all  I  wanted  was  to  take  care  of  him. 

One  evening — it  was  still  September,  three  weeks 
after  Labor  Day — and  before  he  was  entirely  recovered 
from  his  cough,  Jim  was  talking  to  me  in  my  room. 

"But  I  mustn't  devote  the  whole  evening  to  you,"  I 
exclaimed  at  last.  "I  brought  home  from  the  office  a 
report  to  work  on  that  we're  in  a  hurry  for." 

"I  should  think  you  did  enough  for  that  blooming 
society  working  all  day  long,"  grumbled  Jim,  "without 
working  all  night,  too. ' ' 

I  put  my  hand  over  his  lips  to  cut  short  his  com- 
plaints. "You  are  surely  getting  well  when  you  begin 
to  scold." 

"How  long  will  it  take  you?"  He  nodded  toward 
the  pile  of  papers  on  my  desk. 

"The  best  part  of  the  evening,  I'm  afraid.  But  I'll 
311 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

tell  you  what,"  I  said,  brightening,  "you  sit  down  over 
there  with  that  magazine — there's  an  awfully  good  story 
in  it — and  don't  say,  one  word  to  me,  and  I'll  do  my 
level  best  to  get  through  in  time  so  we  can  go  over  to 
Hoefel  Garden  for  a  little  while. ' '  Hoefel  Garden  was  a 
German  place  not  far  away,  where  there  was  an  excel- 
lent orchestra,  and  we  spent  many  evenings  there. 

"All  right,"  Jim  agreed.  "But  I'm  pretty  good- 
natured  to  let  you  work  at  all.  By  rights,  the  evenings 
belong  to  me. ' ' 

"Who  said  so?"  I  demanded. 

"I  did,"  said  he;  and  we  both  laughed.  Then  with 
a  warning  glance,  half  jest,  half  earnest,  he  took  out  his 
watch  and  laid  it  on  the  table  in  front  of  him.  "I'll 
give  you  just  one  hour  and  fifteen  minutes  for  that  job — 
then  us  for  Hoefel  Garden. ' ' 

I  started  in  at  once  and  for  some  time  worked  rap- 
idly; then,  turning  round  to  see  how  Jim  was  making 
out,  inquired,  "How's  the  story?" 

"On  the  bum." 

"Why  don't  you  go  over  to  Hoefel  Garden  now,"  I 
suggested,  ' '  and  then  come  back  for  me  if  you  want  me 
by  and  by?" 

"And  have  you  tell  me  it's  too  late?  Not  much, " 
said  Jim.  "I  don't  stir  out  of  here  alone."  And  he 
held  up  his  watch. 

"I'm  hurrying  just  as  fast  as  I  can,"  I  pleaded.  "I 
hate  to  keep  you  waiting. ' ' 

At  this  he  walked  over  to  the  desk  and  kissed  me. 
"I  know  it,  dear.  You're  all  to  the  good.  I'd  rather 
be  here,  with  you  chained  to  the  desk  like  this,  than  any- 
where else  without  you."  And  he  stood  there,  stroking 
my  hair  and  watching  me  as  I  wrote. 

Finally  I  looked  up  at  him ;  a  hot  wave  of  color  swept 
over  me.  ' '  I — wish — you  wouldn '  t,  Jim.  I — can '  t  work 
so  fast.  An  hour  and  a  quarter  is  pretty  short  for 
this." 

312 


''DAMN  THAT  MEDDLESOME  OLD  MAID" 

"You  take  all  the  time  you  want,"  he  said,  and  went 
over  to  the  cozy  comer  couch. 

The  cozy  comer  was  diagonally  across  the  room  from 
where  I  sat;  for  some  time  there  was  no  sound  save  the 
scratching  of  my  pen.  When  I  reached  the  bottom  of 
one  page,  I  paused  and  listened.  The  room  was  very 
still. 

"Jim,"  said  I,  "what  are  you  up  to?" 

There  was  no  response.  I  turned  to  look  at  him ;  he 
was  lying  all  curled  up  in  the  cozy  comer  like  a  child. 
I  tiptoed  over  there ;  he  was  fast  asleep.  Hastily  throw- 
ing the  afghan  over  him,  I  went  back  to  my  work. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  heard  outside  my  door  the  ex- 
cited voice  of  the  chambermaid.  "Miss  Baldwin,"  she 
said,  and  tapped  quickly  on  the  door.    "Miss  Baldwin." 

I  went  to  her  at  once,  stepped  out  into  the  hall  and 
closed  the  door,  so  that  Jim  should  not  be  disturbed — 
and  so  that  no  one  could  look  in.  His  cough  had  kept 
him  awake  for  several  nights  and  I  was  glad  to  have  him 
sleep,  though  I  should  have  felt  more  comfortable  had  he 
been  in  his  own  room  upstairs. 

"Oh,  Miss  Baldwin,"  cried  the  girl,  "there's  a 
cranky  woman  come  to  see  you.  I  said  I  didn't  know  if 
you  was  home,  but  I  would  come  up  an'  see.  An'  she 
said  she  knew  you  was,  an'  that  she  was  in  a  hurry  an' 
was  comin'  right  up  to  your  room.  But  I  got  ahead  of 
her.  There  she  is,"  and  the  girl  pointed  to  a  tall, 
angular  figure  that  was  toiling  up  the  stairs. 

It  was  Miss  Parker,  a  middle-aged  spinster  who  was 
my  assistant  in  the  office.  Miss  Parker  lived  in  the  set- 
tlement, and,  when  an  important  memorandum  pertain- 
ing to  the  work  I  had  taken  home  to  do  this  evening  was 
discovered  in  the  office  after  I  had  left,  she  was  sent  up- 
town with  it.  As  it  happened,  I  didn't  need  the  mem- 
orandum. I  had  made  a  copy  of  it  for  my  work  and 
purposely  left  the  original  behind  in  its  proper  place,  lest 
some  chance  befall  it  in  my  hands. 
21  313 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

But  all  this  made  no  difference  in  the  situation  now : 
Miss  Parker  disliked  me,  anyway ;  she  was  resentful  that 
a  woman  younger  than  herself  filled  a  position  of  greater 
responsibility.  She  had  been  obliged  to  make  a  long, 
tedious  journey  to  my  boarding  place  in  order  to  remedy 
what  she  thought  was  carelessness  of  mine ;  and  scowling 
she  came  toward  me  in  the  hall. 

Months  before  she  had  once  been  in  my  room ;  she 
knew  its  size  and  all  the  furnishings ;  naturally  she  ex- 
pected to  enter  now.  Instead  I  stood  before  the  door — 
the  door  beyond  which  a  young  man  lay  asleep ! 

"I'm  very  sorry, "  I  said,  and  heard  my  voice  tremble 
on  the  words,  "that  you've  had  this  tiresome  trip.  Will 
you  rest  a  moment  in  the  parlor?  I'll  be  down  directly." 
There  was  an  agitation  in  my  emphasis  that  I  feared  she 
would  observe. 

"In  the  parlor?"  She  hurled  the  word  at  me.  "But 
I  came  up  to  your  room  on  purpose  to  save  time!"  Miss 
Parker  was  a  determined  woman ;  she  was  never  known 
to  yield  a  point,  no  matter  how  trifling  it  might  be,  save 
after  long  debate. 

I  was  in  terror]  lest  some  of  the  people  in  the  board- 
ing house  should  happen  on  us  there;  or,  worst  of 
all,  that  Jim  himself,  hearing  the  confusion,  should 
waken  and  come  to  the  door  to  find  out  what  it  was 
all  about.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  should  scream  if  she 
didn't  go. 

But  she  didn't  go  and  I  didn't  scream.  "Perhaps 
you've  got  company?"  she  persisted,  coming  nearer. 
"Well,  I  sha'n't  stay  long."  And  then,  as  if  remember- 
ing that  she  was  wasting  precious  time,  she  made  a  move 
as  if  to  open  the  door  herself. 

But  I  stepped  back  sharply,  preventing  her;  then 
summoning  all  the  dignity  I  could  command,  I  looked 
straight  into  her  face  and  said,  "Miss  Parker,  it  is  not 
convenient  for  me  to  receive  you  in  my  room.  Will  you 
please  go  to  the  parlor?" 

314 


"DAMN  THAT  MEDDLESOME  OLD  MAID" 

Shrugging  her  shoulders,  she  started  for  the  staircase, 
then  I  followed.  Doubtless  it  only  seemed  to  me  that 
she  walked  more  slowly  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  walk 
before.  But  once  we  were  out  of  range  of  my  door,  I 
breathed  more  easily,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  the 
parlor  without  meeting  any  one,  I  was  myself  again. 
Throughout  her  brief  call  I  exerted  myself,  as  never  be- 
fore with  her,  to  be  agreeable ;  and  when  s^e  left  the 
house  she  had  evidently  forgotten  our  clashing  in  the 
hall. 

But  for  me  it  had  far-reaching  influence.  First  of  all 
it  brought  home  to  me  a  sudden  sense  of  the  light  in 
which  enemies — ay,  and  'friends,  too,  perhaps — might 
view  the  situation  of  Jim  Wolcott  and  myself.  To  me, 
as  I  sat  there  at  work  this  evening,  it  seemed  so  right,  so 
natural  for  him  to  be  there,  too,  that  not  until  I  was 
confronted  by  the  possibility  of  another's  presence  was  I 
at  all  disturbed.  And  now  as  I  went  upstairs,  I  knew 
that  I  had  done  no  wrong,  that  Jim  had  done  no  wrong — 
and  yet  I  was  profoundly  grateful  that  my  caller  had  de- 
parted no  wiser  than  she  came.  Then  what  did  it  mean 
— this  inner  consciousness  of  right,  and  along  with  it  the 
immeasurable  relief  that  Miss  Parker  did  not  discover 
Jim  in  my  room  asleep  ?  I  could  not  see  my  way :  to 
myself  I  seemed  to  be  walking  in  a  fog. 

Leaning  over  the  banister  on  his  own  floor,  Jim  was 
on  the  watch  for  me  when  I  came  upstairs ;  as  I  reached 
the  landing  he  ran  down  to  meet  me,  opened  the  door  of 
my  room,  and  gently  pushed  me  in ;  then  following  and 
closing  the  door,  he  said,  penitently,  "I'm  sorry,  Duchess. 
I  had  no  idea  of  dropping  off  to  sleep.  But  she  didn't 
find  out,  did  she?" 

I  shook  my  head.     "Then  you  heard  us?" 
"Sure.     That  woman  would  wake  the  dead." 
"I  was  afraid  you  would  rush  out  in  the  hall  while 
we  were  talking  there. ' ' 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?"  said  Jim.     "I  hid  in 
315 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

the  alcove  till  I  was  sure  you  had  her  headed  off.     Then 
I  made  tracks  for  upstairs. ' ' 

The  very  words  we  used  in  explaining  matters  to  our- 
selves were  like  a  stab  to  me:  "hid" — "find  out" — 
"headed  off" — "afraid."  I  stood  staring  straight  be- 
yond Jim  at  the  wall. 

"What  makes  you  look  so  sober?  There's  no  harm 
done,  * '  he  said.     ' '  Here,  kiss  me  and  forget  it,  dear. ' ' 

But  I  warded  him  off.  All  at  once  the  fog  cleared 
away.  "Jim,"  said  I,  solemnly,  "this  has  got  to 
stop." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'this'?"  Unconsciously  his 
voice  dropped  to  the  pitch  of  mine. 

"Your  being  in  my  room  so  much." 

"Then  marry  me, "  he  begged.  "It  will  be  my  room 
then,  and  all  the  old  maids  in  creation  can't  drive  me 
out." 

This  reference  to  the  evening's  visitor  only  strength- 
ened my  resolve  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  the  episode,  and 
to  be  honest  with  myself  and  Jim.  I  said  to  him  what 
I  had  never  said  before :  told  him  my  ideal  of  marriage, 
showed  him  all  my  doubts  and  fears  for  the  future  of  us 
two.     He  listened  very  gravely. 

At  the  close  I  said:  "I  don't  know  what  is  best.  My 
vision  is  beclouded  because  we  are  so  near.  Absence 
would  help  us  both,  I  think,  to  see  things  as  they 
are." 

"I  don't  need  any  help,"  he  said.  "I  see  things  as 
they  are  right  now.     And  I  know  what  I  want. ' ' 

"Then  surely  you  won't  grudge  me  the  chance  to 
work  out  the  problem  by  myself.  Whatever  I  decide  to 
do,  I  mean  to  have  no  regrets. ' '  And  I  suggested  that 
he  move  to  another  boarding  house. 

Jim  looked  blank.  "Why,  I  don't  see  how  lean." 
And  he  enumerated  the  difficulties  in  the  way,  empha- 
sizing the  amount  of  money  it  would  cost. 

"Never  mind,"  said  I.     "I'll  move  instead.     I  only 
316 


"DAMN  THAT  MEDDLESOME  OLD  MAID" 

asked  you  first,  because  I  thought  you  had  less  luggage 
here  and  it  would  be  easier  for  you.  But  I'll  find  some 
place. ' ' 

This  angered  him.     "It's  all  nonsense.     Damn  that 
meddlesome  old  maid!" 


CHAPTER   LIV 
SEEKING  ANOTHER  HOME 

NEXT  day  I  secured  from  a  board  directory  a  list  of 
boarding  places  and  of  private  families  who  had 
rooms  to  let.  I  was  tired  of  a  boarding  house 
table  and  all  the  dining-room  familiarities,  and  the  idea 
appealed  to  me  to  rent  a  room  in  a  private  house  and 
take  my  meals  at  restaurants ;  that  would  give  me  more 
freedom  than  I  now  enjoyed  and  more  variety.  The 
locality  I  chose  as  limit  for  my  search  was  far  downtown 

from  the  view-point  of  West  Seventy Street,  in  an 

old-fashioned,  residential  section  of  the  town. 

It  so  happened  that  the  room  available  at  the  third 
address  I  visited  was  admirably  adapted  to  my  needs. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raine  were  the  only  occupants  of  the 
house  they  owned,  their  children  having  long  since  mar- 
ried and  set  up  homes  elsewhere.  Thus  far  they  had 
never  had  strangers  in  their  house,  but  for  several  rea- 
sons had  now  decided  to  rent  the  large  front  room  on 
the  top  floor  if  they  could  find  a  tenant  of  whom  they 
approved.  They  seemed  to  regard  me  favorably  and  I 
certainly  liked  them — and  the  room.  This  extended  the 
full  width  of  the  house;  "southern  exposure"  to  the  ex- 
tent of  three  large  windows  was  provided ;  furthermore 
the  room  was  made  more  homelike  by  an  open  fire ;  there 
was  hot  and  cold  water  and  plenty  of  closet  room. 

In  case  I  engaged  the  room,  it  was  to  be  fitted  up  as 
a  place  where  I  could  receive  my  friends,  though  I  stipu- 
lated for  the  privilege  of  using  the  reception-room  down- 
stairs whenever  I  desired.     The  whole  appearance  of  the 

318 


SEEKING  ANOTHER  HOME 

house  was  so  pleasing,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raine  were  so  at- 
tractive— it  did  my  heart  good  to  see  such  an  old-fash- 
ioned, placid  couple  in  New  York — and  the  price  they  set 
upon  the  room  was  so  moderate,  that  altogether  I  con- 
gratulated myself  on  my  good  luck.  When  we  reached 
the  point  of  references  I  mentioned  the  name  of  the 
organization  by  which  I  was  employed. 

Mr.  Raine  said  the  name  after  me,  and  exclaimed, 
"Then  you  must  have  known  Mrs.  Grey?" 

"Mrs.  Grey?"  I  cried,  joyfully.  "Indeed  I  did.  I 
was  her  secretary  for  five  years.  I  owe  everything  to 
her." 

'"That's  enough  for  us,"  said  Mr.  Raine,  turning  to 
his  wife,  "isn't  it,  Mother?" 

"Mother,"  agreeing,  smiled  at  me.  "What  a  small 
world  it  is,"  she  mused.  "We  didn't  see  so  much  of 
Mrs.  Grey  of  late  years,  after  she  started  that  society. 
But  when  her  husband  was  alive  we  used  to  meet  them 
often  at  my  oldest  daughter's.  She  and  Mrs.  Grey  were 
very  intimate  till  my  daughter  went  out  West  to  live." 

We  made  the  bargain  then  and  there;  and,  on  my 
way  to  the  uptown  Elevated  station,  I  inspected  the  res- 
taurant the  Raines  had  recommended  as  convenient  and 
low-priced. 

The  coming  interview  with  Mrs.  Tate,  the  landlady 
in  West  Seventy Street,  I  dreaded  all  the  way  up- 
town. I  had  been  so  satisfied  with  my  room,  so  appre- 
ciative of  her  efforts  to  do  everything  she  could  to  make 
me  comfortable  in  her  house,  and  I  had  such  a  genuine 
liking  for  her,  too,  that  I  shrank  from  breaking  the  news 
to  her  that  I  was  going  to  leave.  I  couldn't  tell  her  the 
real  reason  why;  and  I  hated  a  "circumbendibus." 

But  the  interview  was  comparatively  easy,  after  all. 
Mrs.  Tate  listened  without  remark  to  the  excuse  I  made 

about  the  long  distance  to  the  office  from  Seventy 

Street,  and  to  my  account  of  the  difficulties  of  the  trip  in 
winter ;  also  to  the  statement  that  I  wanted  to  try  eating 

319 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

at  restaurants  awhile.  But  though  she  said  nothing  sig- 
nificant, I  suspected  by  the  way  she  looked  at  me  from 
out  her  shrewd,  kind  eyes,  that  she  understood  I  was 
leaving  her  house  to  get  away  from  Jim.  At  all  events 
she  and  I  parted  on  the  best  of  terms. 

To  Jim  himself  I  made  it  very  clear  that  he  could  call 
on  me  only  once  a  week;  the  more  he  objected  the  more 
firm  was  I.  "Why,  don't  you  see?"  I  said.  "That's 
the  gist  of  the  whole  thing. ' ' 

"No,"  he  protested,  "I  don't  see  any  sense  in  it  at 
all,  and  I  said  so  at  the  start.  And  if  I  had  some  money 
in  my  jeans,  I  wouldn't  let  you  do  it.  I'd  march  you  to 
the  minister's  and  then — "  he  laughed  and  shook  his  fist 
at  me,  "then  I'd  show  you  who  was  boss." 

"If  I  make  up  my  mind  to  marry  you,  you're  going 
to  be  boss,  money  or  no  money, ' '  said  I.  "I  hate  a 
woman  who  usurps  a  man's  authority.  But  I  want  to 
make  up  my  mind. ' ' 

"And  about  how  long  is  it  going  to  take  you?"  Jim 
inquired  from  halfway  up  a  stepladder.  He  was  demol- 
ishing my  cozy  comer;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  used 
unnecessary  violence.     But  I  never  said  a  word. 

"Say,  Duchess,"  he  shouted,  standing  there,  the  pic- 
ture of  comic  perplexity,  a  hammer  in  one  hand.  "Are 
you  likely  to  pull  up  stakes  again  before  you  make  up 
your  mind?  It's  no  joke,  I  tell  you,  any  way  you  look 
at  it." 

But  at  last  the  room  was  dismantled  and  an  express 
wagon  removed  the  furniture  to  my  new  abode.  It  was 
Tuesday  evening  when  I,  too,  left  the  house,  after  insist- 
ing that  Jim  should  not  go  downtown  with  me.  "Good- 
by  till  Sunday, ' '  was  my  final  word. 

"I  give  you  fair  warning  I'll  be  there  Sunday, "  he 
responded,  glumly,  "early  in  the  afternoon." 

When  I  left  the  office  at  half  past  six  on  Thursday 
(for  I  had  been  detained),  Jim  was  outside  waiting  for 
me.     I  know  he  caught  the  look  of  pleasure  that  swept 

320 


SEEKING  ANOTHER  HOME 

over  my  face  at  first  sight  of  him,  for  it  was  reflected  in 
his  own ;  and  I  fear  the  frown  I  tried  to  muster  afterward 
had  little  influence. 

Slowly  I  walked  toward  him.  ' '  I  told  you  Sunday, 
Jim, ' '  I  said. 

"You  told  me  I  could  call  Sunday,"  he  admitted. 
"But  there's  nothing  to  prevent  my  taking  a  walk  up- 
town after  a  hard  day's  work.  You  don't  own  the 
streets,  you  know.  And  you  said  yourself  that  a  book- 
keeper's job  called  for  a  lot  of  outdoor  exercise. " 

' '  But  I  never  could  get  you  to  act  on  it  before, ' '  I 
reminded  him. 

"It's  different  now,"  he  explained.  "You  claimed 
you  were  going  to  walk  home  from  the  office  every  day, 
and  it's  up  to  me  to  see  if  you  keep  your  word. "  That 
made  me  laugh ;  but  none  the  less  it  touched  me  when  he 
said:  "Say,  Honey,  it's  awful  lonesome  without  you. " 

Although  Jim  called  but  once  a  week,  I  saw  him  or 
heard  from  him  almost  daily.  Either  he  walked  home 
with  me  from  business  or  he  sent  me  a  note  or  tele- 
phoned to  the  office,  or  he  left  at  the  door  a  box  of  candy 
for  me  or  some  posies  he  had  picked  up  from  some  ven- 
der on  the  street.  They  were  poor  and  few,  and  usually 
wilted  before  night,  very  different  from  the  large  boxes 
of  flowers  bearing  the  labels  of  expensive  florists  which 
for  a  time  Paul  Forsythe  had  sent  to  me.  But  I  knew 
that  Jim's  offerings  were  the  best  he  could  provide — and 
all  that  mattered  was  the  thought. 

So,  too,  with  his  letters :  there  was  in  them  nothing 
of  literary  charm,  no  felicity  of  phrasing,  no  graceful 
turn  of  thought,  no  keen  comment  on  the  day's  affairs 
in  the  big  world  outside — nothing  that  had  marked 
Billy's  letters.  But  there  was — what  no  one  else  had 
written  me — the  sincere,  straightforward,  if  often  slangy, 
language  of  affection.     I  knew  he  wanted  me. 


CHAPTER  LV 
MAKING  UP  MY  MIND 

IT  was  in  the  evening  that  I  missed  Jim  most:  the  old 
house  downtown  was  very  still.  And  I  found  my- 
self listening  for  his  whistle  on  the  stairs,  his  light 
tap  on  the  door,  his  strumming  on  the  mandolin.  In- 
deed, Mrs.  Raine  herself  had  been  apprehensive  concern- 
ing the  quiet  of  my  new  surroundings  and  the  lack  of 
young  society. 

"Are  you  sure  you  won't  be  lonesome  up  here  all 
alone?  Or  afraid?"  she  asked  soon  after  I  moved  in. 
The  weather  had  come  on  cold  and  she  had  climbed  up  to 
my  room  with  an  extra  blanket  she  thought  I  might 
need.  "I  find  I  mind  the  stairs  late  years, "  she  con- 
fessed. "It  troubles  me  to  breathe.  And  Mr.  Raine's 
so  lame  that  I  guess  it's  five  years  since  he  was  in  this 
room  until  last  summer.  And  the  workmen  kept  him  so 
busy  then  traipsing  up  and  down  to  look*  after  them,  that 
he  won't  be  likely  to  make  the  journey  now.  But  at  any 
rate,  you  won't  be  interfered  with. " 

I  laughed.  "That  will  be  a  welcome  change.  In  a 
boarding  house  there  are  so  many  interruptions. ' ' 

"Well,  if  it  suits  you,  it  suits  us.  But  if  there's  any- 
thing you  want,  don't  hesitate  to  speak.  Maggie"  (the 
chambermaid)  "has  been  with  me  for  years." 

It  was  quiet,  it  was  lonely  with  the  Raines,  but  it 
gave  me  what  I  sought:  opportunity  to  think. 

Of  marriage  I  thought  much,  not  in  my  old  way  of 
so-called  "thinking,"  which  had  amounted  simply  to 
blind  acceptance  of  traditions,  of  conventions  made  by 

322 


MAKING  UP  MY  MIND 

man ;  but  solemnly,  with  all  the  mind  I  had,  with  all  the 
heart  I  had,  I  considered  the  relation  for  which  marriage 
stood,  stripping  from  the  core  of  truth — so  far  as  I  could 
understand  the  truth — all  the  platitudinous  precepts  I  had 
inherited,  all  the  hypocrisy  I  had  absorbed. 

To  me  the  irrevocable  nature  of  the  marriage  cere- 
mony was  appalling.  How,  I  asked  myself,  could  any 
human  being  promise  before  God  and  man  to  love  another 
human  being  till  death  parted  them?  How  could  he  be 
sure  of  the  other,  how  be  sure  of  himself?  One  might 
undertake  the  minor  obligations,  the  providing  of  food 
and  drink,  the  keeping-up  of  the  paraphernalia  of  a  life 
together,  but  how  could  any  human  being  promise  to  love 
another  all  his  life?  And  without  love,  all  the  rest  was 
meaningless :  no,  not  meaningless ;  it  was  disgrace. 

And  what,  after  all,  was  love,  I  mused?  What  it 
was  not,  I  was  very  sure :  for  instance,  I  knew  that  to 
give  the  name  of  love  to  what  was  merely  riot  of  the 
blood  was  blasphemy:  knew,  too,  that  "respect"  was 
not  enough,  nor  "good  will,"  nor  "sympathy."  But 
what  "love"  was  I  could  not  tell.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
if  love — the  real,  right  thing — existed  between  a  man 
and  woman,  it  must  be  the  result  of  marriage,  not  its 
harbinger. 

That  it  did  not  always  so  result  I  was  well  aware. 
For  nine  years  I  had  lived  in  the  city  of  New  York  and 
had  seen  something  (and  in  the  newspapers  had  read 
much  more)  of  the  manner  in  which  men  and  women 
rushed  pell  mell  into  matrimony,  taking  upon  themselves 
the  most  solemn  responsibilities ;  and  then,  a  little  later, 
lightly  cast  off  those  responsibilities,  in  order  that,  with 
different  partners,  they  might  form  a  new  alliance,  called 
also  by  the  name  of  marriage  and  blessed  by  some ' '  man  of 
God!" — this  alliance  in  its  turn  perhaps  to  be  followed 
by  more  of  the  same  sort.  I  was  familiar  with  the  work- 
ing of  the  divorce  mill  of  South  Dakota  and  other  "easy" 
States ;  and  I  looked  upon  the  whole  thing  as  a  mockery. 

323 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

The  right  way,  so  it  seemed  to  me  as  I  thought  of  it, 
then,  in  an  earnest  effort  to  search  out  the  right,  was  to 
go  slowly  in  the  first  place.  But  no  matter  how  slowly 
the  pair  proceeded  in  the  conventional  pathway  to  the 
altar,  how  could  a  woman  ever  ascertain  the  true  nature 
of  a  man,  or  a  man  ascertain  the  true  nature  of  a 
woman,  until  after  marriage?  "Yet  the  most  important 
relation  of  life, ' '  I  said,  ' '  should  be  something  more  than 
a  leap  in  the  dark. ' ' 

With  some  men  I  could  understand  that  some  women 
would  have  little  doubt.  I  could  easily  imagine  condi- 
tions in  which  I,  too,  should  rejoice  to  intrust  my  whole 
life  to  the  guidance  of  another,  and  with  him  go  forward 
without  questioning  or  fear.  But  it  was  not  an  imagi- 
nary case  that  confronted  me:  I  was  dealing  with  no 
hero  of  romance.  My  problem  was  Jim  Wolcott.  Was 
he  the  kind  whom  marriage — marriage  with  me,  at  least 
— would  develop?  Some  men  are  steadied  by  responsi- 
bility, ambition  sometimes  comes  with  the  need  for  it, 
often  strength  results  from  conflict.  Would  it  be  so  with 
him? 

He  was  twenty -three  years  old,  a  dear,  clean,  sunny 
boy;  but — I  looked  it  in  the  face — as  weak  as  water. 
Was  it  true,  as  he  had  averred,  that  having  me  to  work 
for  "would  make  a  man  of  him?"  I  was  ready  to  do 
everything  I  could  to  make  marriage  a  success.  Would 
he  do  his  share,  once  he  was  sure  of  me  ?  In  my  work 
among  the  tenements  I  had  seen  instances  where  girls 
married  young  men  of  the  same  type,  I  thought,  as  Jim, 
and  the  marriage  proved  disastrous:  the  husband  deteri- 
orated into  a  shiftless,  drunken  creature,  and  the  wife's 
life  was  wrecked.  But  I  remembered,  too,  cases  where 
some  woman  like  myself — out  of  spirits  and  somewhat 
out  of  health,  as  well  simply  through  loneliness  and  de- 
feated capacity,  had  married  some  young  man  like  Jim ; 
and  the  marriage  had  been  the  making  of  them  both. 

The  subject  of  "trial  marriages"  was  on  everybody's 
324 


MAKING  UP  MY  MIND 

tongue  that  fall ;  I  could  scarcely  take  up  a  newspaper 
without  finding  some  facetious  reference  to  it.  But  sur- 
face ridicule  had  no  effect  on  me:  I  was  looking  for  the 
central  truth.  And  more  and  more  it  seemed  to  me  that, 
in  the  case  in  which  I  found  myself,  some  preliminary 
knowledge  of  the  relation  for  which  marriage  stood, 
some  understanding  of  the  influence  which,  as  his  wife, 
I  should  exert  on  Jim's  character,  was  indispensable  to 
courageous,  intelligent  assumption  of  lifelong  responsi- 
bilities. 

I  was  aware  that,  with  some  people,  a  procedure  sim- 
ilar to  this  might  open  the  door  to  much  that  was  de- 
plorable: that,  in  short,  it  might  defeat  the  very  object 
which  its  high-souled  advocates  endeavored  to  promote. 
But  this  did  not  frighten  me.  I  felt  that  the  matter  was 
too  far-reaching,  of  too  grave  importance  to  the  race,  to 
be  settled  by  any  rule  of  thumb.  I  admitted  the  right  of 
other  people  to  their  own  convictions :  in  turn  I  claimed 
the  same  right  myself.  I  felt  that  my  motive  was  honest 
and  my  heart  was  pure. 

For  a  young  girl  whose  character  was  unformed,  I 
realized  this  would  be  a  dangerous  experiment :  but  I  was 
a  woman  twenty-eight  years  old.  If  ever  I  was  to  be 
qualified  to  judge  what  was  right  for  me  to  do,  it  seemed 
to  me  the  time  was  now. 

Had  there  been  any  one  belonging  to  me  to  whom  the 
step  I  was  now  meditating  would  give  pain,  I  might  have 
abandoned  it.  I  do  not  know,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  I 
would  have  hesitated  longer  than  I  did ;  thought  of  the 
suffering  that  might  ensue  for  those  who  belonged  to  me 
would  have  complicated  matters.  But  I  had  nobody. 
And  so  long  as  no  experiment  of  mine  involved  features 
that  interfered  with  the  orderly  arrangement  of  other 
people's  lives,  I  felt  that  I  was  free  to  do  with  my  own 
life  as  I  would. 

The  old  couple  in  whose  house  I  roomed  I  held  in 
high  esteem.     They  had  lived  their  lives — well-rounded, 

325 


A  WOMAN  ALONE     • 

normal  lives — as  seemed  best  to  them.  That  their  * '  best*  * 
accorded  with  the  established  order  of  society  was  part  of 
their  good  fortune.  My  life  had  been  warped,  blunted 
from  the  start.  I  had  tried  in  every  way  I  knew  to  live 
as  other  people  did,  to  have  some  share  in  the  common 
lot.     But  I  was  outside. 

And  so,  considering  the  experiment  of  a  trial  mar- 
riage unblessed  by  any  priest,  I  decided  that,  assuming 
there  was  no  disturbance  in  my  quarter  of  the  house, 
that  Jim  continued  to  go  home  at  the  usual  hour,  that 
the  ordinary  routine  of  life  progressed  as  heretofore,  it 
was  no  more  concern  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raine's  what  ex- 
periment I  made  of  marriage  in  their  house  than  whether 
I  was  a  meat  eater  or  a  vegetarian.  There  might  be 
such  circumstances  connected  even  with  one's  choice  of 
diet  as  to  render  one  a  nuisance  to  one's  neighbors;  but 
failing  such  circumstances  it  was  a  personal  matter,  of 
concern  to  no  one  else. 

Of  course,  I  didn't  like  the  idea  of  secrecy:  no  woman 
does,  I  think.  To  do  anything,  no  matter  how  innocent 
it  may  be,  by  stealth,  is  odious.  I  felt  there  ought  to  be 
some  way  whereby  a  trial  marriage,  entered  on  with 
such  motive  as  I  recognized  in  myself,  could  be  publicly 
solemnized,  could  receive  the  approbation  of  society. 
But  who  was  to  be  the  judge  of  motive?  Where  was  the 
court  of  last  appeal  ? 

Since,  then,  in  existing  conditions  of  society,  there 
could  be  no  ceremony,  no  outward  show  of  sacrament, 
it  behooved  us  never  to  lose  sight  of  what  was  symbol- 
ized. In  my  eyes,  this  trial  marriage  was  a  step  which 
I  prayed  would  lead  to  a  lifelong  union  destined  to  bring 
out  the  best  in  both  of  us. 

For  the  present,  there  could  be  no  home  together,  no 
children,  no  established  place  in  the  community — nothing 
of  what  many  women  marry  for.  But  I  hoped  all  this 
would  follow  in  good  time ;  knowing  Jim  so  well,  I  had 
come  to  understand  something  of  what  life  means  to  a 

326 


MAKING  UP  MY  MIND 

young  man  alone.  And  the  sum  of  all  my  thinking  was 
that  I  had  only  myself  to  give  this  boy :  if  the  gift  would 
help  him  on  all  sides  of  his  life,  I  asked  nothing  more. 

This  was  the  conclusion  that  I  reached  by  Christmas- 
time. Indeed,  for  two  months,  my  ideas  gradually  clari- 
fying, had  been  veering  toward  this  point.  But  Jim  had 
no  suspicion.     How  to  make  him  understand  ? 

I  couldn't  tell  him  in  so  many  words;  to  write  was 
unwise  as  well  as  difficult.  So  far  as  my  observation 
went,  men — even  young  and  thoughtless  men — were 
much  more  conventional  than  women.  I  had  read  much, 
too,  of  men's  attitude  on  vital  questions,  and  through  my 
work  had  heard  many  confidences  from  women  who  had 
been  betrayed.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that,  though  men 
might  defy  conventions  openly  and  persistently,  they 
usually  experienced  some  sense  of  guilt  (not  sufficient  to 
deter  them,  but  enough  to  make  them  uncomfortable  at 
times;  as  if  convention,  just  because  it  was  convention, 
was  indisputable).  Moreover,  they  divided  us  women 
into  two  classes,  according  to  whether  we  obeyed  or  dis- 
regarded the  law  of  so-called  "morality"  which  they 
laid  down  for  us.  I  remembered  having  overheard  men 
say,  * '  What  is  weakness  in  man  is  sin  in  woman. ' ' 

All  this  had  no  influence  on  my  own  opinion  of  what 
was  right  or  wrong.  But  I  resolved  that  there  should  be 
no  experiment  of  the  trial  marriage  unless  Jim's  attitude 
paralleled  my  own ;  unless  he  thought  that  it  would  be 
right  for  both  of  us ;  unless  he  believed  with  me  that  we 
could  look  the  whole  world  in  the  face. 


CHAPTER   LVI 

NEW  year's  eve 

I  HAVE  said  that  he  called  on  me  once  a  week  after  I 
moved  downtown.     To  be  sure,  that  did  not  cover 
all  our  meetings ;  there  were  frequent  walks,  as  well 
as  talks  over  the  telephone,  and  an  occasional  dinner  and 
theater.     But  Jim  complained  that  only  one  evening  call 
a  week  was  '  *  hard  lines. ' ' 

I  found  it  so  myself  and,  by  the  first  of  November, 
Wednesday  evening  as  well  as  Sunday  was  set  aside  for 
him.  Thanksgiving  Day  was  his  by  virtue  of  the  Presi- 
dent's proclamation,  he  declared;  and  when  Christmas 
and  New  Year's  were  near  at  hand,  he  announced  that 
each  holiday  was  to  include  the  evening  preceding  it. 
"A  fellow  always  spends  Christmas  Eve  and  New  Year's 
Eve  with  his  family."  After  a  pause  he  added,  "I 
haven't  anywhere  else  to  go." 

At  this  reference  to  his  homelessness,  I  relented. 
"All  right,"  I  said. 

He  was  not  slow  to  follow  up  the  advantage  he  had 
gained.  "And  I  don't  see  why  you  won't  marry  me 
right  now. ' ' 

"We  can't  get  married  now.  Whether  we  ever  can, 
depends  upon  yourself. ' ' 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  more  I  can  do,"  he  argued. 
"Here  I  am  as  steady  as  a  clock,  don't  drink  a  drop,  and 
what  do  you  think.  Duchess, ' '  he  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  thrust  out  his  chest  and  strutted  up  and  down 
the  room,  "I've  started  a  bank  account." 

328 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 

I  ran  to  him  and  grabbed  the  lapels  of  his  coat. 
"Honest,  Jim?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  he.  Then  lifting  me  high  in  his 
arms,  he  kissed  me;  and  laughing  set  me  down.  "And 
you  pretend  you're  not  mercenary." 

"Oh,  it's  not  so  much  the  money.  It's  the  fact  that 
you  can  save. ' ' 

"How  much  do  I  have  to  save  before  you'll  hitch  up 
with  me?  Of  course,  if  you're  waiting  for  me  to  blos- 
som out  into  a  millionaire,  you  may  as  well  go  to  the 
convent  now. ' ' 

I  made  no  reply.  On  the  table  lay  a  magazine  con- 
taining a  thoughtful  review  of  an  article  that  had  re- 
cently appeared  bearing  on  the  question  of  trial  marriages. 
The  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  me  to  call  Jim's  attention 
to  it,  as  a  means  of  leading  up  to  the  experiment  which, 
if  his  attitude  warranted  it,  I  was  prepared  to  make. 

I  marked  the  article  with  a  blue  pencil  and  held  out 
the  magazine  to  him.  "Take  this  home  with  you,"  I 
said.  "And  read  the  article  I've  marked.  Read  it  this 
evening,  please." 

But  he  folded  his  hands  behind  his  back,  "No,  thank 
you.  Duchess.  I'm  onto  your  tricks.  You're  trying  to 
get  me  out  of  here. ' ' 

"Won't  you,  just  to  please  me?" 

He  stretched  himself  out  comfortably  in  the  Morris 
chair.  "I'll  read  it  here — or  you  can  read  it  to  me. 
But  I'm  not  going  home  Wednesday  evening  at  nine 
o'clock — not  by  a  long  shot."  And  he  smiled  up  at  me 
as  much  as  to  say,  "What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Presently  I  seated  myself  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  and, 
tugging  at  a  button  on  his  coat,  said,  "I  had  a  special 
reason  for  asking  you  to  go  home  and  read  that  article. 
Won't  you?" 

He  drew  my  head  down  on  his  shoulder.     "So  you 
want  me  to  improve  my  mind  as  well  as  save  my  money  ? 
Say,    you're   something   fierce.      You'll   be   ordering   a 
22  329 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

course  in  Sanscrit  next."  And  he  sighed.  "Well,  I 
s'pose  I've  got  to  hike  uptown. "  But  he  made  no  move 
to  go. 

I  looked  at  him,  and  then  at  the  clock. 

"What's  the  old  article  about,  anyway?"  said  Jim. 

*  *  Read  it  and  find  out, ' '  said  I.  And  then  in  a  lower 
voice,  "You  promised."  I  rose  and  reached  out  both 
hands  as  if  to  pull  him  from  the  chair.  He  grumbled  a 
bit,  but  finally  consented  to  go  home.  As  he  stood  half 
inside  the  threshold  and  I  waited  to  close  the  door  behind 
him,  he  opened  the  magazine  I  had  thrust  into  his  hand ; 
and  lazily  looked  for  the  blue  pencil  mark. 

"Aha, "  he  said.  "I  have  it.  H'm!  Yes,  Duchess, 
I'll  read  every  word." 


It  was  New  Year's  Eve  when  Jim  appeared  next  time 
at  the  house;  and  he  brought  back  the  magazine. 
"That's  a  funny  notion  in  that  article, "  he  remarked,  as 
he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

I  began  to  talk  lightly  of  other  things ;  now  that  he 
had  read  the  article,  I  shrank  from  any  reference  to  it. 
We  had  planned  to  go  to  a  restaurant  and  then  downtown 
to  hear  the  chimes  at  Old  Trinity.     But  it  was  early  yet. 

On  my  way  home  from  the  office  that  evening  I  had 
explained  to  Mrs.  Raine  that  Mr.  Wolcott  and  I  were  to 
spend  the  first  part  of  the  evening  in  my  room  and 
intended  then  to  join  the  crowds  and  watch  the  Old  Year 
out.  "So  don't  be  frightened,"  I  cautioned  her,  "if  you 
hear  us  going  up  and  down  stairs  later  than  usual.  It's 
New  Year's  Eve,  you  know." 

' '  Oh,  we  never  hear  anything, ' '  she  had  answered  in 
her  cordial  way.  "Mr.  Wolcott  is  the  quietest  young 
man  I  ever  saw. ' ' 

This  remark  I  repeated  to  him  now ;  he  smiled  and 
we  talked  of  indifferent  matters  for  some  time  and  he 
smoked  at  intervals.     But  finally,  reverting  to  the  article 

330 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 

in  the  magazine,  he  said,  "Yes,  it's  a  funny  notion,  but 
there  might  be  something  in  it. ' ' 

"There's  a — a  great  deal  in  it,"  I  answered,  slowly. 

"But  it  would  be  tough  on  the  girl,"  said  Jim,  "if 
the  fellow  didn't  treat  her  right." 

' '  I  should  think — it  would  be — an  incentive  to  a  man. 
I  should  think — it  would  help  him."  I  was  trembling 
now  and  gripping  the  arm-rests  of  my  chair,  "help  him 
to — to  be  all  she  wanted  him  to  be. "  I  don't  know 
what  was  in  my  voice:  those  were  the  only  words  I 
spoke,  but  all  at  once  the  room  seemed  to  be  alive  with  a 
new  significance.  Jim  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  looking  at  me. 

He  started  to  speak,  then  broke  off  and  walked  over 
to  my  chair.  "Dorothy,"  he  said.  But  I  couldn't  raise 
my  eyes. 

There  was  a  long  moment  of  silence ;  then  the  man 
turned  on  his  heel.  "No,"  he  muttered,  "I  couldn't 
take  a  straight  girl  like  you " 

That  roused  me.  "Jim,"  I  called;  and  he  turned  to 
me  again.  "You  don't  understand.  I'm  'straight,'  as 
you  call  it,  now.  But  I  should  be  'straight'  afterward." 
Then  someway — how  I  cannot  tell — I  found  courage  to 
explain,  while  he  stood  there  with  white  face  watching 
me,  the  meaning  of  a  trial  marriage — in  our  case — to 
me.  ' '  But  unless  it — meant  the  same  thing — to  you, ' '  I 
faltered  at  the  end,  "why — it — could  never  be.  If  you 
don't  look  at  it  as  I  do " 

"But  I  do!  What  you  say  is  so."  Then  I  felt  his 
arms  around  me,  his  hot  breath  on  my  face.  "Oh,  I  love 
you — want  you — dear,"  he  said,  "on  any  terms." 

Suddenly  a  dark  flash  of  terror  tore  its  way  through 
me.  I  pushed  back  his  face  and  for  an  instant  looked 
straight  into  his  eyes.  "Will  you  be  good  to  me?"  I 
said.     "Life  has  been  so  hard.     Will  you,  Jim?" 

' '  I  will.  Always. ' '  In  his  broken  voice  the  words 
had  all  the  solemnity  of  a  marriage  oath. 

331 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

We  talked  a  little  more;  and,  as  was  his  way,  he 
brushed  the  hair  back  from  my  forehead  and  caressed 
my  face.  "Why,  what  are  you  crying  for?"  he  asked 
gently. 

"I — I — don't  know."  My  voice  stopped;  he  kissed 
the  tears  away  and  I  clung  to  him, 

"This  is  the  last  of  the  Old  Year,"  said  Jim.  .  .  . 
And  we  embarked  on  a  New  Year  all  our  own. 


CHAPTER   LVII 
THE  "trial  marriage."— disillusionized 

FOR  the  first  three  months  of  the  trial  marriage 
there  was  happiness ;  or  at  least  something  more 
like  happiness  than  I  had  ever  known.  In  the 
office  I  was  able  to  turn  off  more  work  than  formerly  and 
what  had  been  difficult  of  accomplishment  before  was 
like  child's  play  now.  In  my  relations,  too,  with  those 
whom  I  saw  daily  in  the  routine  of  business,  the  cordial- 
ity I  manifested  now  was  spontaneous;  the  sympathy 
for  others,  which  grief  had  taught  me  in  past  years,  joy 
intensified.  I  was  surer  of  myself  and,  while  more 
efficient,  I  was  gentler,  too. 

All  this,  I  take  it,  followed  because,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  as  a  mature  woman,  I  was  living  somewhat  as 
nature  intended  us  to  live.  I  was  in  better  spirits,  bet- 
ter health,  had  more  hope  for  the  future.  I  read  some- 
where of  one  who  ' '  had  gone  to  sleep  on  the  sea  with 
only  the  unattainable  horizon  round  about  and  awakened 
in  harbor  in  a  strange  land  that  was  warm  and  lovely 
and  full  of  sunshine, ' '  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  fitted  my 
own  case. 

The  only  cloud  was  the  secrecy  necessitated  by  the 
conditions  under  which  we  lived ;  that  cloud,  however, 
we  were  planning  to  dispel  by  being  married  legally  in 
June.  Jim  had  arranged  for  his  vacation  then,  and  I 
knew  I  could  get  away ;  so  we  were  to  have  a  honey- 
moon ' '  like  other  folks, ' '  Jim  said.  ' '  And  then  when  we 
come  back  to  little  old  New  York,  you  can't  send  me 

333 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

home  at  a  quarter  of  eleven  at  night.     This  plant, ' '  and 
he  gazed  proudly  round  the  room,  ' '  will  be  mine. ' ' 

Truth  to  tell,  it  had  not  been  easy  at  all  times  to  per- 
suade Jim  to  conform  to  what  under  the  circumstances 
was  imperative ;  and  had  I  been  among  people  who  were 
less  kindly  (or  more  observant)  than  the  Raines,  there 
might  have  been  more  hazard  to  record.  As  it  was,  I 
used  to  tell  Jim  that  I  had  to  be  discreet  for  both  of  us ; 
at  which,  of  course,  he  scoffed. 

But  we  were  both  looking  forward  to  the  day  when 
we  should  assume  lifelong  responsibilities:  I,  because  I 
believed  our  experiment  was  proving  a  success ;  and  he, 
with  little  thought  of  the  responsibilities,  I  fear,  but  be- 
cause he  understood  legal  marriage  would  give  him  more 
ease  and  more  authority.  In  saying  this  I  do  not  mean 
to  belittle  his  affection  for  me,  or  my  reliance  on  it.  I 
do  believe  that,  in  so  far  as  strength  of  affection  is  com- 
patible with  weakness  of  character,  Jim  loved  me;  he 
was  surely  gentle  and  tender  with  me ;  and  as  I,  striving 
to  uphold  my  confidence  in  man  as  leader,  gave  way  to 
him  in  almost  everything,  he  was  gay,  good-humored, 
and  appeared  in  the  best  light. 

This  was  the  condition  then  when,  early  in  April,  Jim 
told  me  one  evening  that  he  must  purchase  a  new  suit  of 
clothes.  At  the  naivete  of  his  remarks  I  smiled,  and 
that  spurred  him  on  to  a  comparison  of  his  circumstances 
with  my  own. 

"Of  course,  it's  easy  enough  for  you  to  get  all  the 
glad  rags  you  want' '  (this  was  not  true :  it  was  neces- 
sary for  me  to  consider  expenses  most  carefully),  "but  I 
tell  you  what,  it's  a  different  proposition  for  a  chap  like 
me  that's  overworked  and  underpaid.  I  ought  to  have 
had  a  raise  New  Year's,  but  the  boss  has  got  a  grudge 
against  me.  The  tight  wad!"  he  exclaimed;  then  glan- 
cing at  the  clock,  "and  about  this  time  I  suppose  he's 
feeding  his  face  at  Delmonico's. "  There  was  a  pause. 
"Hope  he  chokes!"  said  Jim. 

334 


THE  "TRIAL  MARRIAGE. "—DISILLUSIONIZED 

The  next  time  he  appeared,  he  announced  that  he 
had  been  shopping.  "The  way  women  like  to  shop — 
looking  at  things.  Say,  Duchess,  there's  one  suit  at  John- 
son &  Davis's  that's  a  corker — and  a  bargain  at  that. 
But  I  had  to  pass  it  up.  I  counted  my  roll  of  one-spots 
over  and  over  to  be  sure  some  of  'em  hadn't  stuck 
together,  but — nothing  doing !  Every  blamed  time  I  was 
short  ten  iron  men."  He  sighed.  "That  suit  sure  did 
make  the  rest  look  like  a  fire  sale,  and  I  didn't  separate 
myself  from  any  coin.  And  now  I  might  as  well  go  over 
to  Eighth  Avenue  and  give  up  for  one  of  those 'I-used-to- 
be-$9.67.  Take-me-home-to-day-for-$7.53'  outfits.  I'll 
look  as  if  I  had  just  escaped  from  the  foolish  house.  But 
what  does  that  matter  when,"  with  a  sardonic  smile,  "I 
can  please  you  by  putting  a  few  cents  in  the  bank?" 

I  laughed.     ' ' Don't  be  silly,  Jim. ' ' 

"Well,"  he  assumed  an  air  of  injured  innocence. 
"You're  always  preaching  economy.  But  I  notice  you 
sport  some  high-priced  togs  yourself." 

"I  never  buy  what  I  can't  pay  for,"  I  replied. 

"I  can  pay  for  it  all  right,"  said  Jim.  "Only  not 
till  Saturday.     And  by  then  it  will  be  gone." 

There  was  more  in  the  same  strain.  I  knew  what  he 
was  driving  at,  and  in  my  eyes  it  was  humiliating  to  us 
both ;  still  I  hated  to  have  him  lose  the  opportunity  to 
secure  a  bargain  (he  had  excellent  taste  and  good  judg- 
ment in  such  matters,  too)  for  lack  of  the  loan  I  could  so 
easily  supply. 

"Don't  talk  about  it  any  more,"  I  put  my  hand  over 
his  mouth.  "I'll  let  you  have  the  money  until  Satur- 
day. '  *  And  I  went  to  my  desk  and  wrote  him  out  a  check 
for  ten  dollars. 

He  accepted  it  without  embarrassment,  merely  say- 
ing: "You'll  be  mighty  proud  to  walk  up  Riverside  with 
that  suit  Sunday  afternoon. ' ' 

Two  evenings  later  brought  Jim  in  the  new  suit ;  he 
looked  very  handsome  and  gave  me  an  amusing  account 

335 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

of  his  experiences  buying  it.  "And  now,"  he  said  at 
the  close  of  the  recital,  "I'm  going  to  take  you  up  to 

's, "  mentioning  an  Italian  restaurant  which  I  knew 

by  reputation  as  a  haunt  of  near- Bohemians,  "and  blow 
you  to  a  feed. ' ' 

"Why,  I've  been  to  dinner." 

"It's  a  good  thing  you  have,"  he  answered,  sagely. 
"It's  not  the  eats  that  folks  go  there  for.  It's  the  dippy 
crowd  of  regulars  and  the  talk  and  the  songs — the  whole 
shooting  match.  And,  oh,  joy,  it's  cheap.  So  prink  up 
a  bit  and  we'll  christen  the  new  suit." 

Jim  and  I  both  liked  people ;  we  had,  too,  the  same 
zest  for  novelty,  and  spent  many  hours  in  quest  of  quaint 
and  inexpensive  places  of  amusement  out  of  the  beaten 
track.  Wherever  we  went,  we  always  went  alone  and 
rarely  met  any  one  we  knew ;  but  that  was  no  drawback : 
on  the  contrary  it  gave  more  relish  to  all  our  explora- 
tions. We  were  living  in  a  world  of  our  own  that  seemed 
to  have  no  connection  with  other  people's  lives. 

I  had  known  before  that  Jim  was  careless  about 
money :  he  himself  said  that  he  was ' '  unfortunate. ' '  But 
to  me  heretofore  carelessness  (or  misfortune)  had  not 
been  criminal.  Nevertheless  the  fact  that  he  was  willing 
to  accept  a  loan  from  me  in  order  to  purchase  a  new  suit 
of  clothes  gave  me  food  for  thought.  I  supposed,  of 
course,  that  the  first  thing  he  would  do  on  Saturday 
when  he  received  his  pay  envelope  would  be  to  hurry  to 
my  house  to  repay  the  loan.  In  this  I  was  mistaken :  to 
be  sure  he  did  put  in  appearance  early  Saturday  evening, 
but  he  said  nothing  of  any  indebtedness.  Instead  he 
rushed  in  and  waved  a  couple  of  theater  tickets  before 
my  eyes,  and  as  proud  as  Punch  announced:  "We're 
going  to  a  show  uptown.  Hustle  on  your  hat — the  new 
one,  kid." 

As  usual  I  fell  in  with  his  plan,  not  even  waiting  to 
inquire  what  play  he  preferred.  I  made  it  a  point  to 
leave  everything  to  him,  to  cultivate  in  myself  the  atti- 

336 


THE  "TRIAL  MARRIAGE.  "-DISILLUSIONIZED 

tude  of  depending  on  his  judgment,  of  looking  up  to  him 
as  the  head  of  the  family. 

But  as  the  evening  advanced,  his  silence  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  loan  was  more  and  more  incomprehensible. 
If  for  any  reason  he  could  not  return  the  money  now — 
though  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  like  case  I  should  have 
moved  heaven  and  earth  rather  than  leave  it  unpaid — 
why  did  he  not  explain  ?  If  it  was  embarrassing  to  speak 
of  it,  that  was  all  the  more  reason  to  my  mind  for  plung- 
ing in  at  once  and  having  it  over  with.  But  the  young 
man  at  my  side,  silent  on  one  subject  only,  talked  gayly 
of  a  hundred  other  things  and  showed  no  trace  of  em- 
barrassment ;  on  the  contrary,  he  fished  for  compliments 
regarding  the  fit  of  the  new  suit.  I  had  avoided  all 
reference  to  it  in  the  hope  of  saving  him  mortification, 
but  I  had  my  trouble  for  my  pains. 

Then  I  began  to  make  excuse  for  him :  he  had  simply 
forgotten  it ;  any  minute  he  might  think  of  it ;  his  grand- 
mother had  brought  him  up  so  badly  that  he  had  no  sense 
of  values  now,  etc. ,  etc.  But  all  the  same,  this  did  not 
seem  to  me  the  kind  of  thing  a  manly  young  fellow  could 
forget.  I  knew  that  whatever  his  grandmother  had  done 
or  failed  to  do  for  him,  he  was  a  child  no  longer.  He 
was  now  twenty-four  years  old.  I  looked  upon  him  as 
my  husband — and  I  was  ashamed  of  him ! 

He  had  always  been  generous  with  me,  had  spent  for 
me  much  more  money  than  I  wished ;  even  now  we  had 
the  best  seats  in  the  theater!  But  I  would  rather  he 
repaid  the  loan,  had  he  never  spent  a  cent  for  me.  It 
was  not  that  I  grudged  him  the  money.  That  counted 
not  at  all.  I  would  give  him  every  cent  I  had  if  he  were 
in  need.  But  a  loan  was  not  a  gift ;  and  it  troubled  me 
that  he  could  lose  sight  of  the  difference. 

"Say,  Duchess,  you  look  kind  o'  blue  to-night,"  said 
Jim,  in  one  of  the  intermissions.  "Don't  you  like  the 
show?" 

"Oh,  it's  well  enough,"  I  told  him. 
337 


A  WOMAN.  ALONE 

"Because  if  you  don't,  we'll  beat  it  double  quick. 
I'm  not  so  all-fired  stuck  on  it  myself." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  I.  "It  makes  no  differ- 
ence to  me. ' ' 

"Well  then,  suppose  we  go  up  to 'sand  watch 

the  crowd  and  hear  the  music. ' '  I  agreed,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  we  were  on  Broadway.  "The  plot  of  that 
play  makes  me  tired, ' '  Jim  muttered,  as  we  waited  for  a 
car. 

At  our  little  table  in  the  restaurant,  he  again  reverted 
to  the  play  which,  he  said,  was  ' '  rotten. ' '  He  was  trying 
then  to  strike  a  match,  but  only  succeeded  in  breaking 
off  the  sulphur  head;  several  fruitless  efforts  followed, 
each  one  deepening  the  scowl  between  his  eyes. 

But  at  last  the  cigarette  was  lighted  and  he  could 
give  his  undivided  attention  to  denunciation  of  the  play. 
The  leisurely  methods  of  the  hero  (with  whose  wife  the 
villain  had  eloped)  in  following  up  the  pair,  especially 
roused  Jim's  scorn.  "To  call  that  mutt  a  hero!  Why, 
I'd  kill  a  man  so  quick  he'd  never  know  what  struck  him 
that  took  you  away  from  me!" 

His  tone  all  through  the  evening  had  been  strange; 
and  there  was  a  reckless  light  in  his  eyes  that  I  did  not 
then  know  how  to  interpret. 

"Well,"  I  said,  laughing  a  little  at  the  absurdity  of 
the  idea,  "you  don't  need  to  begin  practicing  just  now. " 
He  gave  me  a  quizzical  look ;  and  with  the  sense  of  not 
knowing  what  was  in  his  mind  I  explained,  still  with  an 
attempt  at  lightness:  "You  see,  I  don't  know  anybody 
else.     You  have  never  introduced  me  to  your  friends. ' ' 

' '  Not  on  your  life, ' '  he  replied,  promptly,  in  a  tone 
that  startled  me.     "Little  Jimmie  takes  no  chances." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  I  asked.  His  cigarette 
glowed  between  us  as  I  leaned  across  the  table.  It  was 
still  too  early  for  the  theater  crowd  to  pour  into  the  res- 
taurant ;  in  fact,  the  place  was  almost  empty.  Our  table 
was  in  a  comer  and  we  could  talk  without  danger  of 

338 


THE  "TRIAL  MARRIAGE. "—DISILLUSIONIZED 

being  overheard.  "What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  I 
asked  again,  as  Jim  made  no  reply. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  spoke.  "Duchess,"  he 
said  at  last,  a  little  shakily,  "I  would  no  more  introduce 
you  to  an  attractive  man  until  you  and  I  have  been  to 
the  minister's  than  I  would  cut  off  my  right  hand.  I 
had  hard  enough  work  to  win  you,  and  I  don't  intend  to 
lose  you  now. ' ' 

I  was  so  shocked  by  what  he  said  that  I  could  not 
speak.     I  only  looked  at  him. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  staring  at  me  in  amazement, 
"I  don't  see  what  you  take  it  that  way  for.  You  ought 
to  feel  flattered." 

"Oh,  Jim,"  I  cried  in  a  low  voice,  drawing  in  my 
breath,  "don't  you  know  me  any  better  after  all  this 
time?  As  if  'going  to  the  minister's'  made  any  differ- 
ence !    Why,  my  dear,  we  are  married  now. ' ' 

"No,  we  aren't,"  insisted  Jim,  flinging  down  his 
cigarette.  * '  Not  the  way  most  folks  look  at  it.  Not  ac- 
cording to  the  law. ' ' 

"It's  the  spirit  that  counts,"  I  reminded  him,  gently, 
**not  the  letter  of  the  law.     The  form  is  nothing." 

"Well,  then,  if  it's  nothing, "  he  broke  out,  angrily, 
"why  in  God's  name  don't  you  go  through  the  form  with 
me?" 

"Jim  dear,"  I  entreated,  "didn't  I  promise  to  'go 
through  the  form'  in  June?  Didn't  we  agree  that  a  wed- 
ding 'like  other  folks,'  when  we  could  get  away  for  a 
honeymoon  all  decently  and  in  order,  was  the  right 
thing  for  us?    Haven't  we  made  all  our  plans?" 

He  nodded  sulkily. 

'  *  In  the  face  of  that, ' '  I  went  on,  my  tone  still  as  if  I 
were  pleading  with  a  child,  "I  can't  quite  understand 
your  attitude  to-night.  We're  doing  just  as  we  agreed. 
But  no  marriage  ceremony  is  going  to  help  if  you  don't 
trust  me  now. ' ' 

Jim  was  still  incredulous.  "You're  a  dam  sight 
339 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

more  attractive  than  you  ever  were  before,"  he  said, 
eying  me  thoughtfully  the  while.  "That's  what  I've 
done  for  you.  And  New  York  is  full  of  fellows  looking 
for  a  girl  like  you  and  naturally ' ' 

"Naturally  what?"  I  lifted  my  head  sharply.  "I 
don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  don't  see  what  the  num- 
ber of  evil-minded  men  in  the  city  of  New  York  has  to 
do  with  me. ' ' 

"Well — it's  this  way."  He  lowered  his  voice. 
"When  a  girl  once  starts  in — like  us,  you  know — she 
never  puts  an  end  to  it.  If  it  isn't  one  man,  it's  another 
all  along  the  line. ' ' 

I  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  "Oh,"  I  moaned, 
* '  how  can  you  say  such  things  to  me  ?  How  can  you 
think  them,  Jim?" 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  he  assured  me 
with  a  self-complacent  smile.  "I  may  be  only  twenty- 
four,  but  I'm  a  lot  older  and  wiser  in  some  things  than 
you.  And  seeing  that  play  to-night  set  me  to  thinking. ' ' 
For  some  moments  he  continued  in  this  vein,  uttering 
glibly  phrases  that  stuck  like  thorns. 

But  I  interrupted  him  with  a  weary  gesture.  "I  wish 
you  would  take  me  home.  I  can't  stand  any  more  of 
this." 

We  went  downtown  in  silence ;  before  we  reached  the 
house  Jim's  mood  had  changed.  "We  mustn't  quarrel, 
kid, "  he  said.  "It's  all  the  fault  of  that  bum  play,  any- 
way. ' ' 

I  made  no  reply. 

*  *  Oh,  see  here, ' '  he  cried,  halting  in  the  shadow  of 
some  trees  in  front  of  a  tall  building,  "I  only  said  it  to 
find  out  what  you  were  made  of,  Dorothy. ' '  He  tried  to 
draw  me  close.     "It  was  nothing  but  a  joke. " 

"A  strange  subject  for  a  joke,"  said  I,  putting  my 
hands  on  his  arms  to  push  him  away ;  then  stepping  to 
one  side  I  waited  with  as  good  grace  as  I  could  for  him 
to  start  on  again. 

340 


THE  "TRIAL  MARRIAGE. "—DISILLUSIONIZED 

His  sidewise  glance  betrayed  his  uneasiness.  "Well, 
I  admit  I  said  too  much,  and  I  beg  your  pardon.  There ! 
What  more  can  I  do?  Don't  be  unreasonable."  And 
he  fell  into  step  again.  At  the  door  he  said  nothing,  but 
made  as  if  to  come  upstairs  with  me. 

I  shook  my  head.  "It's  too  late.  And  besides,"  I 
hesitated,  as  if  to  reconsider  what  I  was  about  to  say,  ' '  I 
don't  feel  to-night  as  if  I  ever  wanted  to  see  you  again. " 

I  saw  his  eyes  turn  to  me  in  the  dark  and  I  knew  that 
he  was  angry.  The  key  was  in  the  latch  by  now,  and 
Jim  paused  in  unfastening  the  door  to  say,  sneeringly : 
"Oh,  you'll  get  over  your  mad. "  He  kicked  at  the  door 
and  handed  the  key  back  to  me.  "And  what's  more, 
you'll  be  looking  for  me  fast  enough.  I  know  you  all 
right."  I  made  no  response,  but  stepping  inside  the 
door  closed  it  hastily  and  dragged  myself  upstairs. 


CHAPTER   LVIII 
ON  THE  DEFENSIVE 

A  SUDDEN  sense  of  futility  overwhelmed  me.  This 
was  what  it  came  to,  then,  my  effort  to  help 
Jim  ?  It  was  thus  I  thought  of  it,  as  ' '  helping 
Jim":  for  first  of  all  it  had  been  necessary  to  convince 
myself  that  I  was  giving,  that  some  generous  issue  justi- 
fied a  step  so  at  variance  with  all  the  precepts  laid  down 
for  the  ordering  of  life.  Jim's  statement  on  the  way 
downtown  that  what  he  had  said  in  the  restaurant  was 
"nothing  but  a  joke"  carried  no  conviction  with  it.  I 
believed  that  in  the  restaurant,  if  ever,  he  meant  what  he 
said,  but  that,  seeing  its  effect  on  me,  he  disavowed  it 
for  fear  of  consequences  to  himself. 

Still,  I  do  not  think  I  had  any  feeling  of  regret  for  the 
course  I  had  pursued :  the  consciousness  of  having  acted 
after  long  deliberation  out  of  a  full  belief  in  what  was 
right  for  me  to  do  never  deserted  me.  That  it  had  been 
a  grievous  error  to  assume  I  could  be  a  help  to  Jim,  I 
now  recognized ;  but  the  question  of  the  wisdom  or  folly 
of  a  deed  was  absolutely  disconnected  from  its  moral 
quality.  And  in  every  fiber  of  my  being  I  felt  that,  no 
matter  what  Jim  said  or  what  thousands  of  my  fellow- 
beings  might  believe,  what  I  had  done  was  free  from 
taint  of  wrong :  that  I  was  sinless  in  the  sight  of  God. 

When  Jim  made  no  attempt  to  see  me  Sunday  (the 
day  following  the  conversation  in  the  restaurant),  I 
recalled  his  parting  sneer  and  decided  he  was  waiting 
for  me  to  make  some  sign.  However,  when  Wednesday 
evening  came,   I   had   some   misgiving   lest   he   might 

342 


ON  THE  DEFENSIVE 

appear  as  usual;  accordingly,  that  there  should  be  no 
light  upstairs  to  indicate  I  was  at  home,  I  went  dinnerless 
to  bed,  after  asking  the  servant  who  was  to  be  on  duty  at 
the  door  to  say  to  Mr.  Wolcott,  in  case  he  called,  that  I 
could  not  see  him.  Next  morning  the  servant  vouch- 
safed no  information  and  I  asked  no  questions,  interpre- 
ting the  silence  as  sufficient  guarantee  that  Jim  had  not 
been  there. 

Until  that  illuminating  conversation  in  the  restaurant 
I  fully  expected  to  marry  Jim  in  the  eyes  of  all  the 
world.  So  long  as  he  did  not  drink — a  proviso  on  which 
I  had  insisted  from  the  first — there  was  nothing  which  I 
felt  would  justify  me  in  casting  him  adrift.  As  I  had 
said  to  him,  "going  through  the  form"  meant  nothing 
to  me.     In  my  own  eyes  I  was  his  wife. 

But  those  few  words  in  the  restaurant  disclosed  an 
attitude  on  vital  subjects  that  differed  radically  from  my 
own.  And  yet  months  earlier  I  had  told  him  what  the 
trial  marriage  meant  to  me,  and  he  assured  me  that  it 
meant  the  same  to  him !  I  recalled  the  circumstances  of 
our  talk  on  New  Year's  Eve,  his  avowal  and  his  prom- 
ises. ...  It  is  a  very  bitter  thing  for  a  woman  to  real- 
ize that  a  belief  which  she  has  held  sacred,  the  very  core 
of  truth,  was  only  simulated  by  another  in  furtherance  of 
his  own  ends ;  that  the  chief  relation  of  her  life  has  been 
a  mistake.  An  innocent  mistake,  indeed ;  but  none  the 
less  a  mistake. 

On  Friday  of  that  week  I  left  the  office  early  and, 
with  the  object  of  eluding  Jim,  should  he  chance  to  come 
to  meet  me,  started  home  by  an  unaccustomed  route. 
Jim  knew  my  ways  so  well,  and  the  exactions  of  my  daily 
work  permitted  so  few  deviations  from  routine,  that 
there  was  little  hope  of  long  escaping  an  encounter  if  he 
was  bent  on  seeing  me.  ' ' But, ' '  said  I,  "he  would  never 
think  of  looking  for  me  in  this  neighborhood. ' ' 

With  a  glance  at  the  clock  in  a  small  shop  I  was  pass- 
ing, I  caught  myself  up  sharply.     Jim  was  still  at  work, 

343 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

I  knew ;  and  at  this  rate  of  progress,  long  before  he  left 
the  office  I  should  be  at  home.  Once  there  I  could  bar- 
ricade myself,  should  such  defense  be  needed,  by  request- 
ing the  servants  not  to  admit  him  to  the  house.  But  to 
that  I  would  resort  only  in  extremities.  And  I  smiled  to 
think  how  groundless  were  my  fears.  "Very  likely  he 
has  seen  some  one  he  likes  better  by  this  time. ' ' 

With  this  thought  in  mind,  I  soon  reached  the  house, 
but  felt  small  inclination  to  go  indoors :  it  was  ridiculous, 
I  said,  to  be  trying  to  escape  from  one  who  was  not  even 
in  pursuit;  it  was  absurd  to  lose  this  opportunity  for 
exercise. 

So,  passing  my  doorstep,  I  sauntered  over  to  the 
comer  where  our  street  merged  into  the  square ;  pausing 
there,  I  gazed  up  the  long  vista  of  Fifth  Avenue.  It  was 
April,  and  the  sweetness  of  spring  was  in  the  air;  a  soft, 
gray  afternoon  it  was,  with  the  sun  appearing  now  and 
then  from  behind  light,  fleecy  clouds  that  held  no  hint  of 
rain.  From  the  small  park  in  the  square  behind  me 
came  the  sound  of  the  splashing  of  the  fountain,  the 
shouts  of  children,  and  the  odor  of  spring  flowers. 

All  this  was  good,  but  spread  out  in  front  were  allure- 
ments better  suited  to  my  mood :  the  crowded  thorough- 
fare offering  to  the  view  every  type  of  face  and  figure, 
the  splendor  of  spring  toilets  on  parade,  glimpses  of 
smart  vehicles,  a  profusion  of  shop  windows,  the  many 
varied  manifestations  of  the  familiar  and  to  me  always 
fascinating  spectacle  of  Fifth  Avenue  late  in  the  after- 
noon in  spring.  Even  the  subdued  roar  of  traffic  over  on 
Broadway  was  music  in  my  ears.     And  I  set  out  uptown. 


CHAPTER  LIX 
RE-ENTER  THE  FORSYTHES 

I  HAD  walked  about  a  mile  and  a  half,  when,  in  a  cab, 
at  a  standstill  in  the  press  of  the  avenue,  I  caught 
sight  of  somebody  I  knew.  At  the  same  instant  she 
saw  me,  bowed,  smiled,  and  signaled  me  to  wait;  then 
she  told  the  driver  to  edge  his  way  up  to  the  curb.  He 
succeeded  in  doing  this  while  she  still  held  me  with  her 
eager  glance. 

It  was  Mrs.  Forsythe,  Paul's  mother.  Almost  seven 
years  had  passed  since  I  saw  her  last,  but  she  seemed 
little  changed ;  and  now,  moving  along  to  make  room  for 
me  beside  her,  she  greeted  me  in  the  old  affectionate 
tone.     "You  dear  child!    Jump  in  here  this  minute!" 

I  obeyed.  Mrs,  Forsythe  gave  me  a  quick  hug,  then 
drew  back  as  far  as  the  confines  of  the  cab  allowed  and 
looked  at  me.  "You're  just  the  same,"  she  said,  "only 
better  looking!" 

"Don't  try  to  make  me  vain  at  this  late  day,"  I 
laughed.  Indeed,  there  was  a  deal  of  laughter  along 
with  the  shreds  of  explanation,  the  phrases  of  excuse, 
which  two  women  who  have  long  been  separated  fling 
out  in  the  first  moments  of  reunion,  striving  to  span  im- 
mediately the  whole  interval.  Meantime  the  cab  was 
drifting  idly  down  the  avenue. 

"But  you  were  going  somewhere,"  Mrs.  Forsythe  in- 
terrupted herself  to  say.  "Tell  me  where,  and  I'll  set 
you  down  there  in  no  time. ' ' 

"I  wasn't  going  anjrwhere  in  particular, "  I  confessed. 
"Just  out  for  a  walk. " 

23  345 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"Good,"  she  cried.  "Then  you'll  come  home  with 
me  and  dine.     It  will  be  a  charity,  for  I  am  all  alone. ' ' 

"Alone?"  said  I. 

"Only  for  a  few  days,"  she  hastened  to  explain. 
"We  arrived  day  before  yesterday,  and  Paul  went  East 
last  night  on  business. ' ' 

"How  is  Mr.  Forsythe?"  I  felt  obliged  to  ask,  but 
was  conscious  that  my  voice  was  hard. 

"Oh,  he's  very  well.  The  dear  fellow's  always  well, 
only, "  she  chuckled  as  if  recalling  some  joke  between  the 
two  of  them  which  she  was  about  to  share  with  me,  "he's 
getting  stout.  And  I  needn't  say  'getting,'  either! 
He's  got  there.  If  he  wasn't  my  son  I  should  probably 
call  him  fat.  But  he  does  like  the  good  things  of  life, 
and, ' '  she  sighed,  ' '  Paul  is  forty  now. ' ' 

"Forty!"  I  exclaimed.  "Well,  you  don't  look  it, 
Mrs.  Forsythe,  any  more  than  you  did  seven  years 
ago. 

"Of  course  you  remember  what  a  fine  figure  of  a 
man  Paul  used  to  be.  Well,"  she  sighed  again,  "he's 
so  heavy  and  middle-aged  nowadays  that  I  tell  him  it's 
cruel  to  expect  me  to  go  around  with  him.  But, ' '  seri- 
ously, "his  soul  is  just  the  same." 

She  gave  me  a  brief  account  of  their  wanderings. 
"We've  been  in  New  York  twice  without  seeing  you. 
But  each  time  we  were  here  only  a  few  days.  Once  I 
called  up  the  office  and  they  told  me  you  were  attending 
some  convention  in  the  West;  and  when  we  were  here 
the  other  time  I  didn't  have  a  chance  to  telephone.  We 
went  to  Massachusetts  when  my  sister  died,  and  then 
sailed  from  Boston  for  Italy. ' ' 

"You  have  been  well  yourself,  I  hope?" 

"Haven't  had  one  sick  day,"  she  said.  All  through 
our  drive  and  during  dinner  at  the  huge  hotel,  Mrs.  For- 
sythe was  in  the  best  of  spirits;  she  wore  a  most  becom- 
ing gown  and,  with  youthful,  buoyant  manner  full  of 
charm,  talked  of  many  different  things,  touching  nothing 

346 


RE-ENTER  THE  FORSYTHES 

she  did  not  adorn  until,  just  before  I  left,  she  asked: 
"Didn't  you  meet  Rae  Dillaben?"  And  as  she  asked, 
she  was  instantly  transformed  into  a  cruel  old  woman 
with  glittering,  unfeeling  eyes.  "I  had  her  over  once 
from  Waban  when  we  were  at  the  Meriden. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  flushing  at  the  memory  of  the 
contretemps.     "She  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  girl." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Forsythe,  "she's  dead." 

* '  Dead  ?    Why,  she  was  the  picture  of  health, ' ' 

The  other  nodded  and  pursed  up  her  lips.  "Nothing 
ailed  her  but  disappointment — about  not  getting  Paul. 
She  fussed  and  brooded  over  that  till  they  had  to  send 
her  to  an  insane  asylum.     She  was  there  two  years. ' ' 

' '  The  poor  girl, ' '  I  cried. 

"Oh,  yes,"  murmured  Mrs.  Forsythe,  indifferently, 
"it  was  too  bad,  of  course.  But  there  was  no  one  to 
blame  but  herself. ' ' 

Thus  disposing  of  the  matter,  she  harked  back  to  the 
promise  I  had  made  earlier  in  the  evening  to  dine  with 
her  next  day.  I  was  already  regretting  it,  for  Mrs.  For- 
sythe's  tone  in  referring  to  poor  Rae  Dillaben  had  frozen 
the  current  of  my  friendliness,  made  me  feel  ashamed  to 
be  the  guest  of  a  woman  who  was  capable  of  such  cold- 
bloodedness toward  one  whom  her  son — as  I  now  under- 
stood— had  sacrificed  to  his  vanity.  From  Paul's  own 
manner  to  myself  in  the  old  days  I  knew  what  she  had 
had  to  fight ;  and  as  I  recalled  the  episode  at  Albany  a 
wave  of  pity  swept  over  me  for  any  woman  who  had 
hoped  to  marry  Paul  Forsythe. 

"I  have  to  be  alone  all  day  to-morrow,"  Mrs.  For- 
sythe said,  as  I  was  leaving,  "and  it  is  deadly  stupid. 
Come  early,  do.     And  can't  you  spend  the  night?" 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  I  protested,  nervously,  "that's  quite 
impossible. ' ' 

"Well,  come  early  and  stay  as  long  as  you  can  with 
me,"  she  urged.  "We  haven't  begun  to  visit  yet,  and  I 
must  make  the  most  of  you  while  I  have  the  chance, 

347 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Paul  will  be  back  the  first  of  the  week,  and  I  expect  he'll 
want  to  see  you  then. ' ' 

This  remark  seemed  to  demand  of  me  something'that 
I  could  not  give ;  hastily  buttoning  my  gloves  and  reas- 
suring Mrs.  Forsythe  that  I  would  dine  with  her  next 
day  as  I  had  said,  I  made  good  my  escape.  It  was  not 
yet  nine  o'clock,  the  necessity  of  going  home  alone  hav- 
ing given  me  a  good  excuse  to  leave  the  hotel  at  an  early 
hour. 

On  the  way  home  I  pondered  what  Mrs.  Forsythe 
had  told  me  of  Rae  Dillaben,  and  my  scorn  of  Paul  in- 
creased. "At  any  rate,  Jim's  not  so  vile  as  that,"  I 
said.  * '  His  faults,  the  worst  of  them,  are  due  to  ignor- 
ance. ' '  And  I  thought  more  tenderly  of  Jim  than  for  a 
week  before. 

Forsythe's  cold-bloodedness,  the  calm,  calculating  way 
in  which  he  helped  himself  (wherever  it  was  possible)  to 
what  appealed  to  him  for  the  amusement  of  an  idle  hour, 
his  pretense  of  devoting  himself  to  his  mother  when  I 
knew  he  only  used  her  as  a  cloak  to  shield  him  in  his 
selfishness — all  this,  with  the  near  prospect  of  seeing 
him  again  who  had  tried  to  work  me  harm,  inclined  my 
heart  to  Jim.  Paul's  sophistry,  his  evasiveness,  made 
the  other's  straight-from-the-shoulder  talk  seem  less  in- 
tolerable. 

It  was  a  Frenchman  who  declared,  "A  woman  for- 
gives everything  but  the  fact  that  you  do  not  covet  her. ' ' 
However  that  may  be,  it  surely  cannot  be  denied  that 
the  fact  that  a  man  does  covet  us — that  so  far  as  he  is 
capable  of  love,  he  loves  us  and  wants  to  marry  us — ex- 
cuses^much  that  would  otherwise  be  inexcusable.  And  of 
course,  my  own  tenderness  for  Jim,  our  long  friendship, 
and  particularly  the  last  three  months,  pleaded  for  him 
now.  I  couldn't  forget  the  cruel  words  he  had  spoken 
in  the  restaurant ;  but  I  did  permit  myself  to  hope  that  I 
could  make  him  see  how  unjust  they  were,  could  make 
him  change  his  attitude.     I  knew  I  was  the  stronger  of 


RE-ENTER  THE  FORSYTHES 

us  two,  and  I  felt  the  strong  must  bear  the  burdens  of  the 
weak;  if  he  would  only  do  his  best,  would  cast  off  preju- 
dice and  trust  me  as  I  trusted  him,  the  plans  for  the  June 
wedding  need  not  be  abandoned  after  all. 

At  this  there  came  over  me  again  the  longing  for  a 
settled,  ordered  existence  "like  other  folks,"  for  a  place 
however  humble  in  the  family  life  of  the  community,  for 
the  dignity  that  marriage  gave  with  its  implication  of 
sanity,  poise,  experience. 

"Not  married  yet?"  Mrs.  Forsythe  had  said.  "Look 
out,  my  dear,  or  you'll  be  an  old  maid  and  take  to  trav- 
eling round  with  a  cat  or  a  canary  bird. ' ' 

This  cut  all  the  deeper  because  it  was  offered  as  a 
joke ;  and  yet,  had  Mrs.  Forsythe  known  of  my  experi- 
ment of  the  trial  marriage,  I  felt  that  her  only  change  of 
attitude  would  be  that,  instead  of  despising  me  for  inex- 
perience and  ignorance,  sl^would  despise  me  for  having 
dispelled  the  ignorance.  "It's  a  queer  world, "  I  sighed. 
"But  Jim  is  more  of  a  man  to-day  than  Paul  Forsythe 
with  all  his  advantages  ever  was  or  ever  will  be. ' ' 

Thus  do  the  vicissitudes  of  life  influence  our  moods ; 
a  chance  meeting  with  a  woman  whom  I  had  not  seen 
for  years,  the  probability  of  soon  encountering  her  son,  a 
few  words  concerning  marriage — this  with  my  own 
inherent  hatred  of  the  furtiveness  of  the  last  three 
months  turned  the  tide  of  feeling  back  to  Jim.  In  the 
rebound,  it  seemed  to  me  I  was  ready  to  marry  him  at 
once  and  trust  to  the  future  to  make  things  right.  It 
was  a  sad  mistake,  I  told  myself,  to  try  to  live  differently 
from  other  people,  even  for  the  short  period  of  time 
which  I  had  set  apart  as  a  probationary  interval. 

The  mere  fact  of  observing  the  conventions,  the 
emptiness  (to  me)  of  going  through  the  form  of  mar- 
riage, would  be  full  of  significance  for  Jim.  Why  defer 
it,  then?  He  had  kept  faith  with  me,  I  believed,  about 
abstaining  from  intoxicants :  what  more  thus  far  could  I 
ask?    The  other — to  bring  him  to  the  point  of  repudia- 

349 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

ting  the  cruel  statements  he  had  made,  of  casting  off 
unjust  suspicions,  to  effect  the  change  of  attitude  which 
I  so  much  desired — would  be  a  slow  process:  I  might 
help  it  on  by  marrying  him  now.  If  so,  why  hesitate? 
At  all  events,  we  could  not  continue  as  we  were. 


CHAPTER  LX 
"DRUNK  AS  A  LORD" 

BY  the  time  I  reached  the  house  I  had  come  to  this 
conclusion.  There  was  nobody  in  sight  when  I 
opened  the  front  door.  Sometimes  I  met  one  of 
the  servants  in  the  hall  and  often,  on  my  way  upstairs, 
Mr.  or  Mrs.  Raine  called  to  me  from  the  library  and  I 
stopped  to  chat  with  them.  But  to-night  there  was  no 
sound,  no  sight  of  any  one. 

As  I  gained  the  fourth  floor  and  turned  at  the  top  of 
the  long  flight  of  stairs  to  go  to  my  own  room,  a  streak 
of  light  underneath  my  door  startled  me.  But  only  for 
an  instant.  ' '  Maggie  must  have  lighted  the  gas  when 
she  brought  up  the  ice  water, ' '  I  thought. 

Unconcernedly  I  turned  the  knob  to  enter,  but  on  the 
threshold  started  back.  There  was  Jim,  his  face  flushed 
and  angry,  standing  with  arms  akimbo  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

"Early  to-night,  aren't  you?"  he  sneered. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  with  my  hand  still  on  the  knob, 
looking  intently  into  his  face ;  then  I  closed  the  door  be- 
hind me  and  leaned  against  it  for  support. 

"I  say,"  he  repeated,  "you're  early  to-night,  for 
you." 

Something  in  his  appearance  suggested  that  he  had 
been  drinking,  that  he  had  not  kept  faith  with  me.  But 
with  an  effort  to  keep  all  sense  of  this  out  of  my  voice 
I  said:  "On  the  contrary,  I'm  late.  I  met  a  friend  and 
went  to  dinner. ' ' 

851 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

"I  suppose  you  'met-a-friend-and-went-to-dinner,  *  " 
he  mimicked,  "Wednesday  when  you  stayed  out  all 
night." 

"Jim,"  I  said  faintly,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

He  caught  my  wrist  and  drew  me  to  him.  "See  here 
now,  you  can't  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes.  I  waited  for 
you  out  there  on  the  comer  Wednesday  night  till  two 
o'clock.  And  then — then  I  went  to  a  joint  uptown  and 
— and  drank  your  health,  you — you —  Drunk  as  a  lord, 
I  was."  He  laughed  as  a  man  laughs  who  is  beside 
himself  with  rage ;  and  he  struck  me. 

With  the  suddenness  of  the  blow,  I  reeled.  But  it 
was  nothing  compared  with  the  scourging  of  outrageous 
words  which  fell  upon  me.  At  first  I  couldn't  speak;  I 
couldn't  do  anything  but  cringe  away  from  him.  But 
by  and  by,  when  he  paused  for  breath,  I  came  close  and 
plucked  at  his  coat-sleeve. 

"Listen,  Jim,  a  minute,"  I  implored.  "All  that 
time  I  was  sound  asleep  up  here  in  this  room.  Don't 
you  see  that  such  spying  on  me  is  a  shame  to  both  of 
us?  I've  always  been  frank  and  above-board  with  you, 
Jim." 

He  darted  a  suspicious  glance  at  me.  ' '  How  did  you 
get  home  Wednesday,  I  should  like  to  know?"  But 
giving  me  no  chance  to  make  reply,  he  continued  ex- 
citedly :  "  I  stopped  at  the  Office  for  you,  but  they  told  me 
you  had  gone ;  then  I  walked  through  this  street  looking 
for  a  light  up  here.  I  thought  perhaps  you  were  still 
mad  and  wouldn't  see  me  if  I  asked  for  you  downstairs. 
By  and  by  I  went  over  to  the  restaurant.  You  weren't 
there,  and  the  cashier  said  you  hadn't  been  there,  so  I 
came  back  to  this  comer  and  beat  it  up  and  down  the 
block  on  my  bicycle  till  two  o'clock.  And  there  was  no 
sign  of  you.  Now,  what  I  want  to  know, ' '  he  raised  his 
voice  and  assumed  a  threatening  attitude,  ' '  is  where  you 
had  your  dinner?    When  did  you  come  home?" 

This  was  no  time,  I  realized,  to  show  resentment  of 
352 


''DRUNK  AS  A  LORD" 

his  insolence ;  the  sickening  need  of  having  to  conciliate 
was  becoming  plainer  with  every  word  he  said.  He  had 
been  drinking,  he  was  in  my  room,  at  night.  Someway 
I  must  get  him  out  of  the  house. 

"I  didn't  have  any  dinner,  Wednesday,"  I  told  him 
very  quietly.  "I  left  the  office  earlier  than  usual,  came 
straight  home  and  went  to  bed. ' ' 

He  gave  me  a  long,  searching  gaze  which  I  met  un- 
flinchingly. "You  may  be  telling  me  the  truth,"  he 
said,  "and  then  again  you  may  be  fooling  me.  But  this 
much  is  sure.  I'll  never  wait  out  there  on  the  comer 
another  time.  I'll  come  upstairs  and  find  out  for  myself 
whether  the  dark  is  nothing  but  a  bluff.  And,"  setting 
his  jaw  in  sullen  determination,  "I'll  tell  you  something 
else.     I'm  going  to  stay  here  to-night." 

At  the  horror,  the  disgust  his  words  inspired,  I  forgot 
the  diplomacy  I  had  resolved  to  use.  Instinctively  I 
drew  back  and  my  eyes  flashed  scorn. 

"None  of  your  high-and-mighty  airs  with  me,"  he 
warned.  "You 're  always  saying  we  are  married.  Well," 
breaking  off  into  a  laugh,  ' '  I  guess  a  husband  has  some 
rights." 

Again  he  caught  my  wrist,  as  if  to  draw  me  to  him ; 
with  a  spring  of  terror,  I  recoiled,  trying  to  pull  my 
wrist  from  his  hold.  But  he  followed  me,  his  face  close 
to  mine.  On  we  went,  step  by  step,  till  I  was  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  room  with  my  back  against  the  wall ;  then 
with  the  air  of  having  got  me  where  he  wanted  me  at 
last,  he  roughly  tipped  my  chin  back  and  kissed  me 
many  times. 

The  fumes  of  his  whisky-laden  breath  made  me 
faint;  but  infinitely  worse  was  the  feeling  of  disgrace 
that  now  swept  over  me.  In  all  the  caresses  of  the  past 
three  months  I  had  never  been  ashamed.  He  was  my 
husband  then :  now  all  was  changed.  These  kisses  were 
an  insult ;  and  I  hated  both  of  us. 

That  I  made  no  response  angered  Jim.  "You  little 
353 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

devil,  what  are  you  so  cold-blooded  for?  Mad  still? 
You  won't  be  when  I  get  through  with  you. "  He  lifted 
me  in  his  arms  and  looked  straight  into  my  eyes. 

Suddenly  I  saw  that,  if  I  meant  to  ward  off  worse  dis- 
grace, I  must  make  some  pretense  of  passion  now ;  resort 
to  stratagem  I  despised,  but,  in  the  desperate  case  in 
which  I  found  myself,  there  was  no  other  way. 

Sooner  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  I  wound  both  arms 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  as  if  of  my  own  free 
will,  kissed  him  till  this  strange  creature  of  whom  I  had 
been  afraid  was  transformed  into  the  old,  gentle  Jim. 

"Ah,"  he  murmured,  "that's  better,  Dorothy." 

"Jim,"  I  whispered,  pushing  him  away  and  forcing 
a  smile  as  I  looked  at  him,  "let  me  go  a  minute." 

"What  for?" 

I  brushed  my  hand  over  my  eyes.  "I'll  tell  you  by 
and  by." 

With  all  his  old  good  nature,  he  released  me  instantly, 
but  followed  me  across  the  room.  "Sit  down  over 
there,"  I  said,  motioning  to  the  rocking  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table  in  the  center  of  the  room. 
Promptly  he  complied  with  the  request,  still  eying  me  to 
find  out  what  I  meant.     I  sat  facing  him. 

"When  you're  good,"  said  Jim,  "I'll  do  anything  for 
you.     What  have  you  got  up  your  sleeve,  anyway?" 

"And  who  is  it  accuses  me  of  curiosity?"  I  laughed? 
"See,  it's  early,  Jim."  I  pointed  to  the  clock;  then 
disclosed  the  plan  which  had  been  revealed  to  me  as  the 
one  means  of  getting  him  to  leave  the  house  quietly.  "I 
visited  so  much  at  dinner  with  the  friend  I  met  uptown 
that  I  didn't  eat  anything  to  speak  of.  Won't  the  kind 
gentleman  take  the  poor  girl  out  some  place  and  give 
her  a  sandwich?" 

' '  Sure, ' '  said  he.     ' '  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?" 

"Anjrwhere  that's  near.  And  I'll — tell  you  in  the 
restaurant. ' ' 

"All  right,"  he  agreed.  "Only,"  with  a  shrewd 
354 


"DRUNK  AS  A  LORD" 

glance  at  me,  "remember  that  I'm  coming  home  with 
you  afterward — up  here,  I  mean. ' ' 

This  I  pretended  not  to  hear,  starting  up  to  get  my 
coat ;  as  I  passed  his  chair,  he  caught  my  hand.  But  I 
put  him  off  with  a  fleeting  caress. 

He  gave  a  long  sigh,  then,  with  a  knowing  smile  ex- 
claimed: "Duchess,  I  can  read  you  like  a  book.  You've 
missed  me  all  this  week. ' '     But  I  said  not  a  word. 

As  he  went  downstairs,  I  thought  with  a  throb  of  joy, 
"This  is  the  last  time  while  I  live  here  that  he  will  ever 
be  inside  this  house. "  But  it  wasn't  unmixed  joy:  there 
was  sorrow,  too,  for  the  failure  of  our  experiment,  grief 
that  Jim  had  proved  so  unworthy  of  respect ;  and  scorn 
for  myself  that  it  was  necessary  to  employ  a  ruse  like  this 
to  get  him  from  the  house ;  shame  that  I  had  kissed  him 
only  that  I  might  more  easily  bend  him  to  my  will, 

' '  But  there  was  no  other  way, ' '  I  pleaded  in  excuse. 
"He  would  have  made  a  scene.  I  should  have  had  to 
summon  help  and  then — then — he  would  have  said — I 
don't  know  what. " 

As  this  flashed  across  my  mind,  I  saw,  as  in  a  sudden 
glare  of  light,  how  false  had  been  my  belief  that  this 
matter  concerned  no  one  but  Jim  and  me.  No  one? 
Why,  it  concerned  the  people  in  whose  house  I  lived ! 

"But  it  needn't,"  self -justification  urged,  "if  Jim 
had  been  different.  If  he  had  been  high-minded,  manly, 
dependable,  all  would  have  worked  out  well. ' '  If — if — 
if!  Everywhere  I  turned,  an  "if"  confronted  me.  And 
through  the  fire  of  shame  that  [consumed  my  vanity, 
burned  this  truth:  that  one  can  never  tell  beforehand, 
when  one  sets  out  to  disregard  conventions  that  have 
been  established  for  the  welfare  of  society,  what  condi- 
tions may  arise  that  will  jeopardize  or  trespass  on  the 
rights  of  others.     No  one  of  us  lives  to  himself  alone. 

I  had  hoped  the  trial  marriage  would  be  a  help  to 
Jim:  instead,  it  seemed  to  have  brought  out  the  very 
worst  in  him.     And  I  now  saw  that,  when  one  is  ready 

355 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

to  give  all  to  another,  to  sacrifice  society  to  any  motive 
however  honest  in  itself,  one  can  never  know  whether 
the  gift  is  what  the  other  needs.  As  for  me,  now  that 
our  experiment  had  failed,  I  would  take  up  life  again  in 
the  old  beaten  track.  But  how  to  make  Jim  understand 
that  this  was  the  end? 


CHAPTER  LXI 
"I  won't  give  you  up'* 

ON  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  house  I  gazed  up  at 
Jim  with  terrified  foreboding :  his  conduct  of  late 
had  been  such  a  surprise  to  me  that  every  shred 
of  my  confidence  in  him  was  gone.  What  I  was  about 
to  say  would  anger  him,  I  knew ;  and  I  dared  not/isk  the 
telling  in  a  restaurant.  If  so  he  would  probably  make  a 
scene,  would  embarrass  me  and  disturb  other  people,  too. 
(And  yet  I  had  thought  that  our  relations  concerned  no 
one  but  ourselves !)  All  this  rushed  through  my  mind  in 
the  instant  that  I  stood  there  gazing  up  at  him.  "Sup- 
pose we  don't  go  to  any  restaurant,"  I  said. 

"Don't  know  your  own  mind  very  long  together,  do 
you?"  He  paused,  waiting  for  me  to  indicate  the  next 
move.  "You  were  howling  for  a  sandwich,  last  I  heard. " 

I  blushed.  "Never  mind  it  now.  Let's  go  over  to 
the  park. ' ' 

By  this  I  meant  the  small  park  in  the  square  near  by ; 
however,  when  we  reached  the  park,  the  benches  were 
all  occupied  and  we  set  out  for  Fifth  Avenue.  This 
thoroughfare  in  our  section  of  the  town  was  as  a  rule 
almost  deserted  at  this  time  of  night:  so  we  found  it 
now.  Eager  to  have  the  ordeal  of  the  conversation  over 
with  as  soon  as  possible,  I  began  at  once. 

"There's  one  thing  I'm  ashamed  of.  I  didn't  see  any 
way  except  to  tell  you  what  I  did.  But  I've  been  deceiving 
you  to-night. ' ' 

He  turned  to  me  quickly,  almost  triumphantly. 
"Then  it  wasn't  a  woman  that  you  went  to  dinner  with? 

367 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Well,  you  didn't  fool  me  very  much.  I  suspected  all 
along  and ' ' 

"Of  course  it  was  a  woman,"  I  burst  out,  "and  I'm 
going  to  dine  with  her  to-morrow,  too.  No,  the  only  de- 
ception was  in  kissing  you  upstairs  and  letting  you  be- 
lieve I  consented  to  your  plan :  in  pretending  I  wanted 
something  to  eat,  when  my  only  object  was  to  get  you 
out  of  the  house.  And  Jim,"  I  said  very  solemnly, 
"you're  never  coming  back.     Everything  is  over  now." 

"Why,  what  have  I  done?"  he  cried,  blankly.  "You 
don't  mean  to  say  you've  got  a  chip  on  your  shoulder 
yet  because  of  a  little  joking  on  my  part  when  we  saw 
that  bum  play  the  other  night?  I'm  surprised  at  you," 
and  he  tried  to  put  his  arm  around  me. 

But  I  edged  away  from  him.  "I  haven't  had  a  chip 
on  my  shoulder  and  I  don't  want  any  hard  words  now. 
Just  because  of  what  has  been  between  us,  I — I — why, 
can't  you  see  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  you,  Jim?" 

"Well,  then,"  he  threw  out  his  hands,  "what  in 
God's  name  do  you  want?" 

"Only  to  say  good-by  quietly  once  for  all." 

He  broke  into  a  laugh.  "H'm!  You're  a  cool  one, 
I  must  say. ' ' 

"Jim,"  I  began  again,  "the  trial  marriage  that  I 
thought  was  right  has  turned  out  all  wrong. ' ' 

"But  what  have  I  done?"  he  cried.     "Just  tell  me." 

I  came  to  a  dead  halt  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  sleeve. 
"It's  you,  Jim,"  I  said.  "Your  character,  your  atti- 
tude, everything.     What's  the  use  of  going  into  it?" 

An  ugly  look  came  into  his  eyes  and  the  muscles  of 
his  mouth  tightened.  We  were  passing  an  electric  light ; 
I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  his  face.  "You're 
tired  of  me,  that's  what  it  is,"  he  said.  "Now  do  you 
want  me  to  tell  you  what  kind  of  women  get  tired  of  a 
man  that  easy?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  please,"  I  begged. 

"'Please'  what?"  he  sneered.  "Do  you  think  you 
S53 


*'I  WON'T  GIVE  YOU  UP" 

can  throw  me  down  without  a  word  and  get  away  with 
it?  Not  on  your  life!  Here  I  haven't  even  so  much  as 
looked  at  any  other  girl.  You  know, ' '  more  tenderly, 
"I've  always  been  true  to  you. " 

"If  you  please,  Jim,"  I  said  faintly,  "don't.  I've 
never  asked  questions.     I've  just  trusted  you. " 

"Well,  there  you  are,"  he  taunted  me.  "When  I  pin 
you  down  to  facts,  you  haven't  a  word  to  say." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have,"  said  I.  "But  I  hoped  I  needn't 
say  it.  First  of  all  you  have  not  kept  faith  with  me 
about  not  drinking. ' ' 

He  raised  his  right  hand.  "I  swear  to  God  I  haven't 
touched  a  drop  this  year. ' ' 

"Why,  Jim,"  I  gasped.  "You  said  yourself  that  last 
Wednesday  night  you  were  as  drunk  as  a  lord.  And  you 
blamed  it  on  me. ' ' 

"I  tell  you  you're  dreaming,"  he  shouted  in  a  rage. 
"I'm  not  fool  enough  to  blab  about  a  thing  like  that. " 

"You  were  angry,  Jim.  You  didn't  know  what  you 
said.  And  your  breath — your  behavior — everything. 
But  what's  the  use  of  talking  any  more?  I  was  mis- 
taken. And  now  I  have  found  out  my  mistake — that's 
all." 

"No,  it  isn't  all.  You're  mine  and  I'm  not  going  to 
give  you  up  without  a  fight.  If  you  don't  marry  me," 
he  hissed,  "I'll  tell  folks  you're  my  mistress  now." 

I  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye.  "You  can't  frighten 
me  like  that.  In  the  first  place  no  one  would  believe 
you.  But  vastly  more  important  than  what  any  one 
thinks  of  me  is  what  I  know  myself.  Nothing  that  any 
one  can  say — ^not  if  all  the  world  believed  you — can 
change  my  own  conviction  that  I  have  done  nothing  of 
which  to  be  ashamed.  But,''  I  hastened  to  add,  "it 
would  be  disgrace  to  keep  on  with  you  now  that  I  under- 
stand you,  Jim.  And  I  have  come  to  see  that  I  was  mis- 
taken, too,  in  thinking  that  any  two  people,  even  if  both 
of  them  mean  right,  can  live  to  themselves  alone.     Each 

359 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

individual  is  part  of  the  community  and  for  the  sake  of 
others " 

But  he  wouldn't  let  me  finish.  "All  that  cuts  no  ice 
with  me, ' '  he  said  with  an  impatient  gesture.  ' '  I  want 
you  and  I  don't  care  how  I  get  you."  Then  his  mood 
changed  and  he  pleaded  instead  of  threatening  me.  But 
I  made  no  reply. 

In  the  progress  of  our  talk,  we  had  turned  south  some 
time  since;  now  we  were  at  the  corner  of  my  street. 
"Jim,"  said  I,  "I'm  going  home.  Good-night — and 
good-by. ' ' 

"I'm  going  to  the  door, "  he  muttered.  "I  never  left 
a  girl  on  a  street  comer  yet. ' '  We  walked  in  silence  to 
the  house ;  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  I  paused ;  Jim  reached 
out  for  my  latchkey. 

"No,"  said  I,  and  waited  for  him  to  go.  But  he 
stood  motionless,  with  one  hand  on  my  arm. 

"This  is  not  good-by,"  he  warned  me.  "I  won't 
give  you  up. ' ' 

Moments  passed  and  still  he  stood  there  looking  at 
me,  with  a  firm  grip  on  my  arm.  Across  the  street  was 
a  policeman  idly  pacing  up  and  down ;  I  glanced  in  his 
direction  and  said  shamefacedly:  "You  aren't  going  to 
make  me  appeal  to  him,  are  you,  Jim?" 

At  these  words  Jim  turned  on  his  heel.  And  I 
entered  the  house  alone. 


CHAPTER  LXII 
AWHEEL  AND  ON  FOOT 

NEXT  morning  the  servant  who  had  been  on  duty  at 
the  door  on  Friday  evening  said  to  me  as  I  was 
going  out  to  breakfast:  "You  wasn't  in  when 
Mr.  Wolcott  called  last  night.  But  he  said  you  was  ex- 
pectin'  him  an'  he  would  go  upstairs  an'  waif.  So  I  let 
him.     Was  it  all  right,  Miss  Baldwin?" 

* '  Never  mind  this  time,  George, ' '  said  I.  '  *  But  here- 
after please  remember  nobody  is  to  go  up  to  my  room 
unless  I  am  there  and  tell  you  so.  And  as  for  Mr.  Wol- 
cott,"  I  was  conscious  of  the  alertness  of  George's  atti- 
tude as  I  spoke  the  name,  "if  he  calls  again,  please  say 
that  I  am  not  at  home.  Don't  let  him  into  the  house 
under  any  circumstances. '  * 

George  nodded.     "All  right,  miss,"  he  said. 

It  was  humiliating  to  be  obliged  to  say  this  to  a  ser- 
vant, but  in  view  of  Jim's  disposition  to  make  trouble 
for  me,  I  dared  not  run  the  risk  of  finding  him  in  my 
room  again.     But  I  was  sick  with  shame  and  fear. 

However,  as  the  day  wore  on,  personal  anxieties  van- 
ished for  the  time  in  the  press  of  routine  work,  and, 
when  I  left  the  office,  the  thought  of  the  dinner  engage- 
ment with  Mrs.  Forsythe  was  a  distinct  relief;  for  one 
evening  I  should  be  in  a  different  atmosphere  with  no 
time  to  think  of  my  own  affairs.  Just  to  be  with  some 
one  who  did  not  know  of  Jim's  existence  would  be  in 
itself  a  rest. 

Mrs,  Forsythe  I  found  brilliantly  polished  and  uphol- 
24  361 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

stered  as  a  result  of  recent  visits  from  the  manicure  and 
the  hairdresser ;  the  latter,  indeed,  I  met  in  the  hallway  of 
the  suite,  taking  a  last  look  at  the  marcelled  monument 
that  testified  to  her  skill. 

"I  hope  it  will  last  till  Paul  gets  back,"  my  hostess 
said,  a  little  anxiously,  when  I  complimented  her  on  her 
coiffure.  "He  always  likes  to  see  me  in  the  latest 
style." 

The  mother's  chief  dinner  topic  was  her  son.  Last 
evening  our  talk  had  been  so  disconnected,  we  shifted  so 
rapidly  from  one  quarter  to  another  of  the  globe  in  the 
attempt  to  touch  on  all  her  travels,  that  Mrs.  Forsythe's 
maternal  pride  was,  so  to  speak,  hidden  under  a  bushel 
of  other  interests.     But  now  it  emerged  triumphant ! 

I  have  no  wish  to  seem  to  make  light  of  her  very  nat- 
ural sentiment.  To  her  what  she  said  was  truth:  and 
not  by  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash  would  I  have  wounded  her. 
But  with  my  own  knowledge — knowledge  that  had  cost 
me  dear — of  the  real  character  of  her  son,  her  words 
were  meaningless,  save  as  revelation  of  the  distance  I 
had  traveled  in  the  past  seven  years. 

We  were  half  through  dinner,  when  Mrs.  Forsythe, 
who  sat  facing  the  dining-room  door,  suddenly  looked  up 
with  an  exclamation  of  delight.     ' '  Paul, ' '  she  cried. 

Then  I  heard  behind  my  back  a  voice  I  should  have 
known  anjrwhere  on  earth :  ' '  Got  through  sooner  than  I 
expected  and  thought  I'd  give  you  a  surprise. " 

"And  I  have  a  surprise  for  you,"  she  said,  indicating 
me.     * '  See  who '  s  here. ' ' 

The  man  halted  at  my  side.  "Why,  Dorothy  Bald- 
win," it  was  the  same  caressing  intonation,  "is  this 
really  you?" 

I  acknowledged  that  it  was,  as  I  greeted  him;  and 
presently  the  three  of  us,  to  all  appearances  spanning 
easily  the  long  interval  of  absence,  fell  into  our  old-time 
manner  of  gayety.  Mrs.  Forsythe  and  I  delayed  our 
dinner  till  Paul  caught  up  with  us.     But  he  made  short 

362 


AWHEEL  AND  ON  FOOT 

work  of  it,  explaining  that  a  man  named  Fletcher 
claimed  everybody  ate  too  much,  and  answering  his 
mother's  questions  about  his  journey,  all  in  the  same 
breath. 

She  herself  was  the  picture  of  happiness  and  benevo- 
lence ;  it  seemed  impossible  this  was  the  same  woman 
who  only  yesterday  spoke  so  cruelly  of  poor  Rae  Dilla- 
ben.  And  I  had  never  seen  her  handsomer;  the  unex- 
pected arrival  of  her  son  was  evidently  the  last  touch 
needed  to  set  off  the  effectiveness  of  her  coiffure.  The 
outward  and  visible  sign  of  the  hairdresser's  skill  Paul 
regarded  with  pretended  awe. 

"So  the  wild  waves  said 'Marcel'  to-day?"  he  teased. 
"Expecting  somebody  besides  Dorothy  this  evening?" 
And  then  he  turned  to  me.  *  *  Mother  gets  younger  and 
more  frivolous  each  year.  I'm  in  constant  fear  she  will 
elope.  She  always  did  fascinate.  But  now  that  she 
ondulates — and  straight-fronts — and  new-thoughts — and 
all  the  rest  of  it,  she's  a  heavy  responsibility." 

"Well,  you're  heavier  yourself,"  I  said  the  first  thing 
that  came  into  my  head,  "than  you  were  seven  years 
ago." 

Laughing,  he  raised  a  warning  hand.  "Tread  lightly! 
But  speaking  of  mother  now, ' '  he  returned  to  the  attack 
with  gusto,  "she's  the  sylph  of  the  family!  Do  you 
wonder  that  old  codgers  and  young  whippersnappers, 
too,  are  making  up  to  me?  Why,  Dorothy,  we  have 
more  invitations  than  we  know  what  to  do  with!" 

"We  always  had,"  his  mother  interposed,  "when  you 
were  on  the  ground. ' ' 

"Yes,"  he  jeered.  "But  it's  not  debutantes'  mam- 
mas inviting  us  yachting  any  more,  nor  young  widows 
trying  to  inveigle  us  into  bridge.  It's  widowers  that  are 
taking  notice  now.  Why,  they  fight  among  themselves, 
for  the  chance  of  engaging  me  in  conversation.  And  I 
observe,"  he  winked  at  me,  "they're  particularly  atten- 
tive when  my  parent  is  along.     I  always  let  them  know 

363 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

she  is  my  parent,  for  fear  they'll  take  me  for  her  father, 
Dorothy." 

In  appearance  Paul  Forsythe  was  certainly  much 
changed.  Or  was  it  that  I  saw  him  now  through  differ- 
ent eyes?  There  was,  of  course,  no  grain  of  truth  in 
the  absurd  vision  which  he  conjured  up  for  our  amuse- 
ment, of  a  son  who  looked  older  than  the  mother :  that 
was  only  an  ancient  joke  of  his,  refurbished  for  the  re- 
quirements of  to-day.  It  used  to  be  his  serio-comic 
boast  that  strangers  thought  them  a  newly  married  pair, 
and  that  every  good-looking  man  they  met  was  trying  to 
alienate  the  affections  of  the  bride. 

The  joke  I  recognized,  as  I  did  everything  else  he  said. 
His  point  of  view  on  all  the  subjects  we  discussed  in  the 
dining-room  and  later  in  their  suite  upstairs  I  could 
predicate  in  advance;  even  the  words  that  he  would 
choose,  the  very  accents  of  his  voice,  I  knew  before  he 
spoke.  But  in  the  outward  appearance  of  this  fat, 
pompous  man  of  forty,  there  was  little  trace  of  Apollo, 
the  sun  god,  whom  I  worshiped  at  the  sea-shore ;  little 
resemblance  to  the  Paul  Forsythe  from  whom  I  fied  at 
Albany. 

The  episode  at  Albany  all  the  evening  tingled  through 
my  consciousness ;  and  I  felt  that  he  was  thinking  of  it, 
too.  It  was  easy  enough  to  disregard  it  in  the  presence 
of  another,  but  I  dreaded  the  silence  should  we  be  alone; 
and,  foreseeing  that  in  the  case  of  his  mother's  guest  he 
could  not  well  escape  escort  duty,  I  resolved  to  start 
home  at  an  early  hour  and  for  the  sake  of  both  of  us 
travel  downtown  by  the  shortest  route.  Mrs.  Forsythe 
accompanied  us  to  the  elevator.  An  instant  later  we 
were  out  of  the  hotel. 

Then  came  my  first  surprise.  "It's  a  glorious  even- 
ing, Dorothy,"  Paul  remarked.  "Suppose  we  walk  to 
your  house. ' ' 

"As  you  please,"  said  I;  and  we  started  down  the 
avenue. 

864 


AWHEEL  AND  ON  FOOT 

"It's  plain  to  see,"  he  eyed  me  approvingly,  "that 
you've  kept  up  the  exercises  I  recommended  years  ago. 
You  were  such  a  thin,  anemic  little  girl  when  I  met  you 
first — and  now, ' '  he  paused,  as  if  for  fitting  words.  This 
made  no  impression.  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  I  was 
just  the  average,  ordinary  woman,  who  by  no  chance 
could  ever  be  a  beauty. 

A  little  hurriedly  I  replied,  glad  to  render  gratitude 
where  gratitude  was  due :  "  I  have  always  been  thankful 
to  Mrs.  Forsythe  and  you  for  opening  my  eyes  to  some 
of  the  defects  that  could  be  remedied.  But  you  must  see 
many  changes  in  New  York  since  you  were  here  before. 
This  building,  for  instance,"  referring  to  a  sky-scraper 
we  were  passing  at  the  time,  which  was  one  of  the  land- 
marks of  the  new  metropolis.  And  I  launched  out  into 
an  expose  of  my  architectural  ignorance  that  I  hoped 
would  last  for  a  good  part  of  the  journey  home. 

He  listened  courteously  till  I  came  to  a  full  stop ;  then 
he  announced — as  if  he  were  stating  something  of  grave 
importance — "But  of  all  the  changes,  the  most  gratify- 
ing is  in  yourself.  You  have  developed  just  as  I  hoped 
you  would — in  body  and  in  mind. ' ' 

I  strove  in  vain  to  stem  the  tide  of  compliment.  I 
wanted  to  say,  "My  'development' — as  you  call  it — 
hasn't  amounted  to  much,  if  I  can't  estimate  at  its 
proper  value  such  flubdub  as  your  talk. ' '  But,  of  course, 
I  didn't  say  it:  I  only  tried  to  walk  faster. 

When  we  neared  the  house,  he  asked:  "What  even- 
ings are  you  at  home,  Dorothy?" 

At  this  I  determined  to  show  my  attitude  so  plainly 
he  could  not  misunderstand.  I  waited  a  moment  before 
answering.  "Paul,"  I  said  as  gently  as  I  could  and 
yet  firmly,  too,  "I'm  not  at  home  at  any  time — to 
you." 

He  gave  no  sign  that  he  had  heard ;  but  with  all  the 
ease,  the  amplitude  of  manner  that  implied  confidence  in 
his  own  ability  to   deal  effectively  with  any  situation 

365 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

which  might  arise,  he  steered  the  conversation  smoothly 
into  another  channel,  calling  my  attention,  as  we  turned 
into  the  side  street  I  had  mentioned  as  our  destination, 
to  a  bicycle  which,  propelled  by  a  young  man,  was 
visible  halfway  down  the  block. 

"I  thought  the  fashion  of  bicycling  had  died  out 
here, ' '  he  said. 

"The  fashion  has,  I  believe.  The  bicycle  is  only  a 
convenience  now."  Instinctively  I  halted  and  a  sigh 
escaped  me.     The  young  man  on  the  wheel  was  Jim. 

"You're  tired,"  Paul  declared.  "I've  made  you 
walk  too  far. ' ' 

"Not  at  all,"  I  said,  with  an  effort  to  quicken  our 
pace.  My  one  thought  was  to  get  rid  of  Paul  and  into 
the  house  myself  before  Jim  turned. 

But  Paul  was  plainly  in  no  haste.  At  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  when  my  manner  made  it  clear  that  he  was  not  to 
open  the  front  door  for  me,  nor  even  ring  the  bell,  he 
tarried  for  some  leisurely  leave-taking  of  which  I  did  not 
hear  one  word ;  nor  on  the  asphalt  of  the  street  could  I 
hear  the  bicycle.  And  Paul's  figure,  towering  in  front 
of  me,  interfered  with  my  keeping  an  eye  on  Jim,  who 
by  now,  I  feared,  had  reached  the  comer  of  Sixth  Ave- 
nue and  started  back  again.  "Good-night,"  I  said  to 
Paul  abruptly. 

"Are  you  ill?"  he  cried. 

"No — no,"  I  stammered.  And  then  again,  "Good- 
night. ' '  He  raised  his  hat  and  walked  rapidly  away  in 
the  direction  of  Fifth  Avenue.  The  Raines's  house  was 
near  the  comer. 

Halfway  up  the  steps,  I  glanced  down  the  block  in 
the  direction  of  Sixth  Avenue,  and  saw  Jim  darting 
toward  me  on  his  wheel.  I  stumbled  then  and,  as  I 
picked  myself  up  and  fumbled  for  the  latchkey,  heard  the 
sound  of  the  wheel  being  thrust  against  one  of  the  posts 
at  the  bottom  of  the  balustrade.  Next  I  felt  a  clutch 
upon  my  arm. 

366 


AWHEEL  AND  ON  FOOT 

"So  that's  the  lady  friend  you  go  to  dinner  with?'* 
sneered  Jim.     "I  suspected  it." 

"No,  that's  her  son  who  arrived  unexpectedly  to- 
night." 

"A  moment  more  and  I'd  have  told  him  to  leave  my 
girl  alone. ' ' 

Steadily,  coldly,  I  gazed  at  Jim.  I  knew  that  he  could 
easily  have  confronted  Paul,  had  that  been  his  wish ;  he 
could  soon  overtake  him  now,  were  he  so  inclined.  But 
Jim's  was  not  the  caliber  that  does :  I  saw  that  to  the  end 
he  would  take  it  out  in  talking,  bullying  a  woman,  but 
fighting  shy  of  men. 

With  this  discovery  all  my  fear  of  him  was  gone. 
Instead  of  being  at  his  mercy,  I  was  in  command. 
"Jim,"  I  said  very  quietly,  my  eyes  fixed  on  his,  "un- 
less you  keep  away  from  me  of  your  own  accord,  I  shall 
invoke  protection.  It  will  be  humiliating  for  us  both. 
But  I've  had  enough  of  this.     Now  go. " 

Without  a  word  he  went. 


CHAPTER  LXm 
JIM'S  DEATH— PAUL'S  OFFER 

AFTER  that  he  did  not  seek  a  personal  interview; 
sometimes  I  saw  him  on  his  bicycle  in  our  street 
or  near  the  office,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to 
speak  to  me.     I  heard  of  him,  however,  through  a  woman 

who  still  boarded  in  the  West  Seventy Street  house 

and  reported  that  he  was  drinking  heavily.  "We  hear 
him  coming  in  at  all  hours,"  she  declared.  "How  he 
keeps  his  job  is  a  surprise  to  us.  My  husband  has  a 
cousin  who  used  to  know  Jim's  father.  It  seems,"  she 
lowered  her  voice,  "it's  in  the  blood.  The  father  drank 
himself  to  death,  so  my  husband's  cousin  says,  when  he 
was  about  Jim's  age.  Isn't  it  a  pity?  Jim's  such  a 
dear  boy  when  he  is  himself. ' ' 

Then  letters  began  to  come  from  him :  letters  threat- 
ening, pleading,  reviling,  according  to  his  mood.  I 
answered  none  of  them  until,  about  the  first  of  June,  a 
more  abusive  letter  came  than  any  that  had  preceded  it. 
To  this  I  replied  briefly  that  in  future  any  letter  would 
be  returned  unopened ;  and  I  begged  him,  for  the  sake  of 
both  of  us,  not  to  write  again. 

It  was  ten  days  later  that  I  was  summoned  to  the 

police  station.  Months  before  Jim  had  written  on  a  card 
of  mine  his  name  and  address,  with  the  request  that  he 
be  notified  in  case  of  accident  to  me ;  this  card  he  made 
me  promise  to  carry  everywhere.  At  the  same  time  he 
made  out  another  in  like  fashion  for  himself,  requesting 
any  one  who  found  it  to  notify  me  if  he  met  with  acci- 
dent. 

368 


JIM'S  DEATH— PAUL'S  OFFER 

I  remember  he  was  very  gay  the  evening  he  made  out 
the  two  cards.  "I'm  going  to  wear  mine  next  my  heart. 
Duchess,"  he  said,  and  laughed  as  he  said  it  and  kissed 
me.  "You'll  be  sure  to  hear  of  it  if  the  good  die 
young. ' ' 

My  card  I  destroyed  when  I  broke  off  with  him :  his 
he  kept,  for  it  was  through  information  which  the  card 
conveyed  that  I  was  summoned  to  the  police  station 
where  Jim's  dead  body  lay.  They  told  me  that  on 
Eighth  Avenue,  on  his  bicycle,  he  had  attempted  to  pass 
a  moving  van  as  a  cable  car  approached  at  high  speed. 
His  wheel  struck  the  tracks,  slipped  from  under  him,  and 
he  was  thrown  directly  in  front  of  the  car ;  they  said  he 
was  under  the  influence  of  liquor  at  the  time. 

I  did  what  there  was  to  do  and,  following  his  body  to 
the  grave  three  days  later  in  the  near-by  village  which 
had  been  the  only  home  he  knew,  recalled  the  words  of 
Theodore  Prime:  "When  a  thing  like  that  is  in  the 
blood,  nothing  on  earth  can  keep  a  fellow  from  it." 
Jim  was  the  last  of  his  line ;  through  him,  at  least,  the 
curse  had  not  been  handed  down. 

When  I  came  back  to  the  city,  the  Forsythes  had  gone 
away,  but  all  through  the  spring  I  had  seen  much  of 
them  both.  After  the  Saturday  evening  when  I  left  Paul 
so  abruptly  at  the  foot  of  the  Raines's  front  steps,  I  did 
not  expect — nor  did  I  wish — another  sight  of  him.  But, 
to  my  amazement,  he  ignored  rebuff.  Of  course,  he  did 
not  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  house ;  but  I  was  forever 
meeting  him,  or  he  would  overtake  me  and  make  excuse 
to  walk  with  me,  "as  we  are  going  the  same  way." 
Once  in  awhile,  he  would  send  me  a  new  book  or  a  box 
of  flowers. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  showered  invitations  on  me,  and  in 
such  form  I  could  not  well  decline :  for  instance,  about 
the  time  of  day  when  she  knew  I  would  be  going  home, 
she  sometimes  drove  down  to  the  office  and  begged  me 
as  the  greatest  favor  in  the  world  to  go  with  her  to  help 

369 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

her  choose  a  hat.  "I've  been  there  twice  already,"  she 
would  say,  "in  order  to  save  your  time.  I've  narrowed 
the  possibilities  down  to  three.  But  I  can't  decide 
alone. ' '  Or  she  would  request ' '  the  pleasure  of  my  com- 
pany and  the  benefit  of  my  advice"  (Paul  came  naturally 
by  his  tendency  to  flattery)  in  buying  a  present  for  her 
niece,  whom  she  was  soon  to  visit ;  or  it  would  be  some 
other  service  for  which  I  was  the  only  friend  available. 

Later  there  was  dinner;  sometimes  the  theater.  Occa- 
sionally, in  Paul's  absence,  she  and  I  would  go  alone, 
but  as  a  rule  he  accompanied  us ;  and  that  meant,  of 
course,  that  the  end  of  the  evening  he  went  home  with 
me.  Never  after  that  first  evening  did  he  ask  if  he 
might  call,  nor  offer  to  unlock  the  door.  He  always 
said  good-night  very  formally  at  the  foot  of  the  front 
steps  and  spoke  no  word  of  seeing  me  again.  But  as  a 
rule  we  met  several  times  a  week.  This  puzzled  me,  for 
I  judged  that  he  was  not  the  man  knowingly  to  waste  his 
time.  "But  surely,"  I  said,  "after failing  so  disastrously 
seven  years  ago,  he  cannot  now  expect  success. ' ' 

However,  I  decided  he  was  quite  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  himself!  If  he  chose  to  waste  his  time  and 
money  as  he  was  now  wasting  them,  why — he  had  plenty 
of  both  to  spare ;  and  so  long  as  he  always  included  his 
mother  in  the  expeditions  he  proposed,  I  saw  no  reason 
to  decline.  While  I  didn't  care  for  him  at  all,  I  admired 
much  in  his  mother  and  enjoyed  the  theater.  Of  course, 
I  should  never  have  allowed  a  poor  man,  in  whom  I  had 
no  interest,  to  spend  so  much  money  for  me  in  theater 
tickets,  but  in  Mrs.  Forsythe's  company  I  had  no  hesita- 
tion whatever  in  accepting  from  her  son,  who  had 
inherited  a  fortune,  who  had  never  done  a  day's  work  in 
his  life,  a  share  of  what  he  offered  to  his  mother  and  to 
me. 

That  it  wouldn't  last  long,  anyway,  I  was  confident. 
Mrs.  Forsythe  and  Paul  were  confirmed  globe-trotters, 
and  any  day  they  might  set  out  again  for  another  absence 

370 


JIM'S  DEATH— PAUL'S  OFFER 

of  seven  years;  in  the  meantime  I  resolved  to  make  the 
most  of  such  diversion  as  they  put  in  my  way.  It  helped 
to  banish  for  awhile  the  haunting  dread  of  Jim,  to  offset 
in  some  degree  the  anguish  that  Jim's*  letters  caused. 
Accordingly  I  took  the  gifts  the  gods  provided  and  asked 
no  questions. 

But  as  I  have  said,  on  my  return  from  Jim's  funeral, 
mother  and  son  were  gone.  From  Massachusetts,  where 
they  were  now  visiting  relatives,  Mrs.  Forsythe  sent  me 
a  note.     And  presently  Paul  wrote. 

A  servant  handed  me  the  letter  as  I  came  home  from 
dinner  and  in  the  lower  hall  beneath  the  chandelier  I 
paused  an  instant  to  glance  at  the  handwriting  on  the 
envelope.  To  recognize  Paul's  curves  and  flourishes 
was  a  disappointment ;  I  had  hoped  to  hear  from  the  dress- 
maker that  night. 

On  the  stairs  I  chanced  to  drop  the  letter  and,  stoop- 
ing carelessly  to  pick  it  up,  smiled  to  think  how  the 
mere  fact  that  I  could  let  it  fall  typified  the  change  in  me 
since  I  last  received  a  letter  from  him.  Then  I  had 
tucked  it  in  my  bodice  safe  from  harm,  and  at  night  laid 
it  underneath  the  pillow  on  my  bed.  Now  the  arrival  of 
the  letter  was  a  disappointing  item  in  the  day's  routine. 

"My  dear  Dorothy,"  he  wrote,  "when  you  gave 
me  to  understand  at  our  first  meeting  this  spring  that 
you  preferred  not  to  see  me  alone,  I  knew  it  was  because 
of  the  episode  so  long  ago  at  Albany.  But  I  did  not 
blame  you,  either  for  your  part  in  that  episode — even  for 
the  light  in  which  you  put  me  with  the  hotel  people 
at  that  time — nor  for  the  position  that  you  took  this 
spring.  From  your  poiM  of  view  you  acted  wisely.  And 
without  saying  so  in  words  I  have  tried  to  let  you  see 
that  I  respected  your  preference. 

"But  now  words  are  necessary.  I  am  about  to 
change  my  way  of  life.  I  am  laying  plans — and  have 
begun  the  execution  of  them  in  part — to  carry  on  real 
estate  operations  on  an  extensive  scale.     As  you  know,  I 

371 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

have  myself  large  holdings  in  New  York  realty,  and  I  feel 
that  they  demand  my  presence  there.  My  circle  of  social 
and  business  friends  widens  rapidly  in  any  community 
where  I  let  my  personality  be  felt.  And  I  have  con- 
cluded it  is  high  time  for  me  to  'get  into  the  game'  of 
building  up  the  fortune  which  my  father  left. 

"This  is  not  all.  I  am  weary  of  roaming  up  and 
down  the  earth:  I  want  a  settled  home  with  a  young 
woman  who  is  able  to  share  its  responsibilities.  In  my 
judgment,  Dorothy,  you  have  fully  proved  your  ability 
to  fill  the  many  positions  and  meet  the  many  demands 
which  my  broadening  life  will  make." 

And  then — there  was  a  paragraph  of  compliment, 
some  reference  to  his  mother's  liking  for  me,  a  sum- 
ming-up, so  to  speak,  of  what  he  considered  my  qualifi- 
cations for  the  job — Paul  Forsythe  asked  me  to  be  his 
wife. 

I  laid  the  letter  down  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  laughed. 
No.  matter  in  what  terms  the  proposal  had  been  couched, 
there  could  have  been  but  one  reply ;  yet,  had  there  been 
in  all  he  wrote  one  word  of  affection  that  rang  true — in- 
deed, had  there  been  one  statement  that  commanded  my 
respect — I  could  not  have  laughed.  It  was  the  cold- 
bloodedness, the  pomposity,  the  consummate  egotism  of 
this  man  that  impressed  me  as  I  sat  there  musing  on  the 
changes  wrought  by  the  whirligig  of  time;  then  I 
roused  myself  and  despatched  a  very  proper  note  declin- 
ing the  honor  he  offered  me.  And  that  was  the  end  of 
my  acquaintance  with  Paul  Forsythe. 


CHAPTER   LXIV 
CONCLUSION 

IT  was  the  end  of  my  thinking  of  him,  too.  But  the 
memory  of  Jim  was  always  with  me.  I  do  not  think 
I  placed  any  halo  on  the  dead.  I  knew  that  I  could 
not  have  saved  him.  But  the  sense  of  futility  was 
heavy  at  the  first :  by  and  by  what  had  weighed  upon  me 
as  love's  labor  lost  appeared  as  something  that  was  to 
be,  something  that  had  of  right  its  own  place  in  my  life; 
but  ended  now,  it  rested  with  myself  to  change  it  from 
a  dead  weight  that  hindered  me  into  a  stepping-stone 
whereby  I  might  reach  (and,  reaching,  succor)  lives  hith- 
erto beyond  my  ken. 

If  I  know  myself,  I  did  endeavor  so  to  change  it;  and 
the  next  two  years,  I  think,  were  marked  by  more  activ- 
ity for  others,  by  more  forgetfulness  of  self  than  I  had 
shown  before.  Outwardly  conditions  were  unchanged: 
I  continued  in  the  work  downtown  and  still  lived  with 
the  Raines  in  their  comfortable  but  silent  house. 

It  was  the  same  dreary  round  that  thousands  of  New 
York  business  women  know:  toiling  all  day  long  as 
women  were  not  meant  to  toil ;  often  too  weary  at  night 
for  the  lonely  dinner  in  the  restaurant;  trying  to  live 
worthily ;  fighting  always — always  the  longing  for  home, 
children,  companionship.  It  isn't  the  work,  it  isn't  the 
struggle :  it  is  the  unnatural  quality  of  both !  In  short,  I 
was  like  other  women,  the  mute  thousands  who  strive  to 
make  the  best  of  the  abnormal  conditions  in  which,  be- 
fore they  understood  the  conditions  or  themselves,  they 
found  means  of  a  livelihood ;  and  who  now — the  compe- 

373 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

tition  fiercer  every  year — are  too  old,  too  discouraged  or 
too  firmly  established  in  New  York  to  risk  the  hazard  of 
new  fortunes  in  unfamiliar  fields. 

But  inwardly  there  was  a  difference  from  the  old 
days:  of  course,  I  was  unhappy,  desolate.  No  woman 
thus  placed  can  be  otherwise.  But  there  was  less  think- 
ing of  myself,  less  haggling  of  defeated  will.  For  the 
past  I  had  no  regret,  save  that,  when  nineteen  years  of 
age,  I  came  to  live  in  New  York  City :  but  now  for  weal 
or  woe,  I  was  established  there  and  I  knew  no  way  to 
change.  So  far  as  possible,  I  dismissed  the  matter  of 
the  personal  equation  at  that  point. 

The  spring  following  my  thirty-first  birthday,  the 
youngest  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raine,  who  was  the 
wife  of  a  physician  in  California,  visited  her  parents. 
She  was  only  six  months  my  senior,  and  we  were  together 
much ;  indeed,  the  five  weeks  she  spent  with  us  before 
her  husband.  Dr.  Nowles,  arrived,  saw  the  beginning  of 
a  friendship  that  has  known  no  wavering.  And  Dr. 
Nowles's  arrival,  instead  of  weakening  the  bond  of  sym- 
pathy, strengthened  it  by  bringing  me  another  friend. 
The  two  of  them  have  the  same  place  in  my  heart. 

They  had  planned,  before  Mrs.  Nowles  left  California, 
a  three  months'  European  trip  to  supplement  the  journey 
East.  But  now  Dr.  Nowles  broke  the  news  that,  because 
of  heavy  obligations  devolving  on  the  physician  to  whom 
he  expected  to  intrust  his  patients  this  summer,  he  was 
forced  at  the  last  minute  to  cut  short  his  vacation ;  he 
said  it  did  not  seem  worth  while  to  cross  the  ocean  now. 
But  Mrs.  Nowles  was  opposed  to  abandoning  the  plan ; 
she  made  her  husband  promise — so  she  told  me  after- 
ward— that  if  she  could  .persuade  me  to  take  a  holiday 
abroad  with  her,  he  would  go  over  with  us,  returning 
when  he  must  and  leaving  us  to  follow  by  ourselves. 

When  Mrs.  Nowles  first  broached  this  to  me,  it 
seemed  like  a  dream.  I  had  never  been  abroad  and  the 
obstacles  looked   insurmountable;  however,   she  swept 

374 


CONCLUSION 

them  all  away,  though  she  agreed  to  every  stipulation  I 
was  obliged  to  make.  I  could  have  but  a  short  vacation 
at  the  most:  Mrs.  Nowles  claimed  that  suited  her; 
furthermore,  she  attended  to  all  details  for  me,  and 
almost  before  I  knew  it  I  found  myself  with  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Nowles  on  board  a  transatlantic  liner  bound  for  Liverpool. 

The  day  we  sailed  I  observed,  among  the  throng  of 
passengers  on  deck,  a  man  whom  I  should  have  noticed 
anywhere;  he  was  with  a  handsome  woman  whom  I 
heard  a  stewardess  address  as  "Mrs.  Aylwardson. " 
Presently,  in  my  hearing,  some  one  called  the  man  ' '  Mr. 
Aylwardson. ' '  I  saw  them  also  in  the  saloon  at  dinner, 
a  long  way  from  where  I  sat.  The  second  day  Mrs. 
Aylwardson  did  not  appear  on  deck,  but  I  then  noticed 
for  the  first  time,  with  the  man,  a  lad  of  sixteen  who 
called  him ' '  father. ' '  Next  morning,  neither  the  woman 
nor  the  boy  was  in  evidence.  Indeed,  the  majority  of 
the  ship's  passengers  remained  below  from  that  time  on: 
we  had  heavy  weather,  high  seas  and  head  winds  all  the 
way  across. 

One  morning  early  in  the  voyage,  somebody  called 
out  to  Mr.  Aylwardson,  as  he  paced  the  deck  alone: 
"How's  your  family?" 

"Mrs.  Aylwardson  is  very  unhappy,  thank  you,"  was 
the  reply.  * '  My  brother  is  worse  off.  And  the  boy — ' ' 
His  gesture  implied  the  inadequacy  of  words. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  Dr.  Nowles,  who  had 
met  Mr.  Aylwardson  in  the  smoking-room,  presented 
him  to  Mrs.  Nowles  and  me.  For  the  rest  of  the  voy- 
age the  four  of  us  were  almost  inseparable  on  deck ;  the 
men  discovered  friends  in  common  in  some  quarter  of  the 
earth  and  shared  many  interests.  We  were  all  good  sail- 
ors: as  for  me,  my  spirits  rose  with  the  fury  of  the 
storm.  Just  to  be  there  in  such  congenial  company  and, 
without  responsibility  for  anything,  watch  old  ocean 
kick  up  its  heels,  was  such  delight  that  I  grudged  each 
day  that  brought  us  nearer  Liverpool. 

375 


A  WOMAN  ALONE 

Acquaintances  progress  rapidly  at  sea ;  and  after  five 
days,  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  known  Mr.  Aylwardson  all 
my  life.  But  first  impressions,  too,  are  lasting.  At  the 
start  I  had  inferred  that  the  Mrs.  Aylwardson  with  whom 
I  saw  him  was  his  wife :  it  was  only  near  the  end  of  the 
voyage  when  the  storm  subsided  and  the  invalids 
emerged  that  I  discovered  she  was  his  brother's  wife. 
The  brother  I  did  not  remember  seeing ;  and  small  won- 
der, for  he  disappeared  before  we  were  out  of  sight  of 
land.  From  the  passenger  list  I  knew  there  was  only 
one  Mrs.  Aylwardson  on  board,  but  the  initials  of  the 
brothers'  names  did  not  then  distinguish  the  two  men  for 
me ;  and,  supposing  that  I  understood  the  relationship  at 
first,  I  never  gave  the  matter  another  thought. 

It  was — for  me,  at  any  rate — a  very  natural  mistake. 
Whether  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Nowles  knew  the  situation  from 
the  start,  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  out.  But  at  all 
events  nothing  was  said  by  any  one  to  undeceive  me  till 
the  day  before  we  landed,  when  Mr.  Aylwardson  himself 
made  some  reference  to  his  wife's  death  five  years 
earlier.  Had  I  known  the  truth  before,  it  might  have 
complicated  my  own  attitude.  But  placing  Mr.  Ayl- 
wardson in  the  same  category  with  Dr.  Nowles — among 
the  safely  married  men  whom  I  had  always  found  to  be 
most  congenial  acquaintances — I  could  be  myself  with 
him. 

There  is  little  more  to  tell.  Mr.  Aylwardson  joined 
our  party  for  the  Cornwall  and  Devon  coaching  trip  which, 
besides  a  week  in  London,  was  all  that  Dr.  Nowles's 
holiday  and  mine  allowed. 

Years  before  (oppressed  by  the  melancholy  that  is 
common  among  the  thoughtful  who  have  suffered  early, 
who  have  struggled  long  alone)  I  had  concluded  that  I 
was  doomed  forever  to  be  baffled  by  my  own  intensity : 
that  the  future  would  be  desolate  like  the  past.  To  my- 
self in  the  old  days,  I  seemed  to  be  always  on  my  knees 
before  a  God  who  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  my  plea  that  I 

376 


CONCLUSION 

would  suffer  any  torture,  would  pay  any  price,  for  the 
boon,  however  brief,  of  happiness.  I  was  like  a  helpless 
child  who,  despite  the  premonition  of  defeat,  is  com- 
pelled to  keep  on  offering  the  greatest  bribe  he  knows  to 
the  All-Powerful — a  child  entreating  that  a  miracle  of 
blessing  may  be  wrought,  yet  entreating  with  hand 
upraised  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

With  the  failure  of  the  trial  marriage,  I  ceased 
entreating,  sought  no  more  what  is  not  found  by  seek- 
ing. Instead,  I  endeavored  to  accept  life  as  it  was  and 
make  the  best  of  it,  believing  that  for  me  the  book  of 
love  was  closed. 

But  what  I  now  caught  glimpses  of  in  the  Cornwall 
ledges,  in  the  lanes  of  Devonshire,  opened  to  my  view 
what  I  had  never  seen  before :  and  it  was  so  plain,  so 
simple,  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  When  happiness 
came  I  met  it  with  a  smile — a  smile  that  held  unswerv- 
ingly through  tears.  My  heart,  always  turbulent  before, 
always  questioning,  was  still:  and  in  the  stillness  the 
answer  of  life's  riddle  was  revealed. 

Mr.  Aylwardson  and  I  were  married  in  the  fall,  and  he 
brought  me  to  his  home  in  a  city  far  distant  from  New 
York.  That  was  four  years  ago:  my  stepson  has  a 
brother  now  who  is  almost  two  years  old.  Home,  child, 
comradeship — all  that  seemed  unattainable — are  mine: 
and  anguish  is  no  more  remembered  for  the  plenitude 
of  joy.  I  thank  God  every  day,  and  pray  that  other 
women's  stories  similar  to  mine  may  have  an  ending  like 
my  own. 

4 

'         a) 

THE  END 


A  SPLENDID  SOCIETY  NOVEL 


The  Bolted  Door 

By  George  Gibbs,  author  of  "Tony's  Wife,'* 
etc.  Illustrated  by  the  author.  i2mo.  Cloth, 
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The  story  of  an  ambitious  young  inventor  and  a  young 
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eccentric  millionaire  uncle. 

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"One  of  the  most  attractive  novels  which  has  appeared  for  a  long 
time.  Holds  the  interest  breathless  all  the  time  and  ends  with  a  most 
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"A  clever,  fascinating  love  story." — Detroit  News. 

"Bright,  exciting,  and  decidedly  up-to-date.  The  characters  are 
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absorbing." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Admirably  constructed.  Interesting  episodes  succeed  each  other 
and  the  frothy  and  clever  dialogue  of  the  fashionable  butterflies  of  the 
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novel.  The  real  depths  of  human  feeling  are  treated  with  fine  emo- 
tional power." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"The  most  distinguished  society  novel  for  a  long  time  and  one 
of  the  most  dramatic." — Hartford  Courant. 

"As  up-to-date  as  the  steam  yacht.  More  than  ordinarily  pleas- 
ing."— Brooklyn  Eagle. 


D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 


By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


The  Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man 

Illustrated  with  full-page  drawings  and  pen-and- 
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The  story  of  a  modest  Long  Islander  who  is  tricked  by  a 
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summer. 

* '  Capital. '  '—Brooklyn  Eagle. 

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"Just  one  laugh  after  another." — Washington  Star. 

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artistic."— .A^^w  York  Times. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 


A  GERMAN-AMERICAN  ROMANCE 


A  Year  Out  of  Life 

By  Mary  E.  Waller,  author  of  "The  Wood- 
carver  of  'Lympus."     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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grow  to  know  each  other  as  the  days  pass — a  correspondence 
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D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


**A  beawtifol  romance  of  the  days  of  Robert  Bums.** 

t  '  ■'  ■       '■ 

Nancy  Stair. 

A  Novel.  By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane,  author 
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humor.  She  has  also  delicacy,  dramatic  quality,  and  that 
rare  gift — historic  imagination. 

"  *  The  Life  of  Nancy  Stair '  is  interesting  from  the  first 
sentence  to  the  last ;  the  characters  are  vital  and  are,  also, 
most  entertaining  company;  the  denouement  unexpected 
and  picturesque  and  cleverly  led  up  to  from  one  of  the 
earliest  chapters;  the  story  moves  swiftly  and  without  a 
hitch.  Robert  Bums  is  neither  idealized  nor  caricatured ; 
Sandy,  Jock,  Pitcairn,  Danvers  Carmichael,  and  the  Duke 
of  Borthewicke  are  admirably  relieved  against  each  other, 
and  Nancy  herself  as  irresistible  as  she  is  natural  To  be 
sure,  she  is  a  wonderful  child,  but  then  she  manages  to 
make  you  believe  she  was  a  real  one.  Indeed,  reality  and 
naturalness  are  two  of  the  charms  of  a  story  that  both 
reaches  the  heart  and  engages  the  mind,  and  which  can 
•carcely  fail  to  make  for  itself  a  large  audience.  A  great 
deal  of  delightful  talk  and  interesting  incidents  are  used  for 
the  development  of  the  story.  Whoever  reads  it  will  advise 
everybody  he  knows  to  read  it ;  and  those  who  do  not  care 
for  its  literary  quality  cannot  escape  the  interest  of  a  Iov«« 
ttory  full  of  incident  and  atmosphere." 

*  PowcrfWly  and  attraetirely  written.*'— Pittsiurg^  Pott, 

*  A  story  best  described  with  the  word  '  charming.' " 

—  JVatJUm^^  Potti 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


By  JOSEPH   C  LINCOLN 


The  Woman-Haters 

By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln,  author  of  "Cy  Whit- 
taker's  Place,"  "The  Depot  Master,"  etc.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.25  net. 

The  "woman-haters"  are  a  lighthouse  keeper,  with  a 
mysterious  secret,  and  an  equally  inscrutable  young  man  from 
the  city,  who  is  washed  ashore  and  takes  up  his  abode  in  the 
lighthouse.  A  nearby  bungalow  is  the  cause  of  many  disturb- 
ances to  their  solitude,  for  there  are  dwelling  an  exceedingly 
attractive  girl  and  an  elderly  housekeeper.  ^Vhat  happens  to 
the  * '  woman-haters ' '  is  told  with  the  same  humor  that  enliv- 
ened "  Cap'n  Eri  "  and  "  Cy  Whittaker's  Place." 

' '  For  downright  good  humor,  with  plenty  of  sea  and  shore  talk 
in  the  never-to-be-exhausted  New  England  vernacular,  and  a  double 
love  story,  with  nothing  in  it  permitting  the  Howard  Chandler  Christy 
style  of  pictures,  Joseph  C.  Lincoln's  '  Woman-Haters '  is  heartily 
recommended.     It  will  render  cheerful  many  a  dismal  afternoon." 

— Syracuse  Post- Standard. 

"Joseph  C.  Lincoln  excels  as  a  delineator  of  types  found  in  the 
simple,  characteristically  crafty  and  perfectly  self-satisfied  folk  of  the 
New  England  coast.  In  '  The  Woman-Haters '  he  repeats  previous 
successes  in  this  held." — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

"Joseph  C.  Lincoln  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  picturesque  Cape  Cod- 
der  as  a  center-piece  to  his  stories  of  that  district,-  and  his  latest  book, 
'The  Woman-Haters,'  features  one  whose  grim  humor  and  pointed 
sailor  talk  is  only  equaled  by  the  uproariously  funny  situations  in  which 
he  figures." — Springfield  Republican. 

"  It  has  no  episode  that  will  bring  a  tear  to  the  eye,  but  the  person 
who  can  read  it  with  a  straight  face  and  without  occasional  outbursts 
of  laughter  must  be  wholly  devoid  of  a  sense  of  humor." 

— Boston  Herald. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 


BOOKS  BY  JOSEPH  C  LINCOLN 


Cy  Whittaker's  Place 

27  illustrations  by  Wallace  Morgan,  colored  inlay 
on  cover.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

Cape  Cod  life,  as  pictured  by  Joseph  C.  Lincoln,  is  delightful  in 
its  homeliness,  its  wholesomeness,  its  quaint  simplicity.  The  plot  of 
this  novel  revolves  around  a  little  girl  whom  an  old  bachelor,  Cy 
"Whittaker,  adopts.  Her  education  is  too  stupendous  a  task  for  the 
old  man  to  attempt  alone,  so  he  calls  in  two  old  cronies  and  they  form 
a  "Board  of  Strategy."  A  dramatic  story  of  unusual  merit  then  de- 
velops ;  and  through  it  all  runs  that  rich  vein  of  humor  which  has  won 
for  the  author  a  fixed  place  in  the  hearts  of  thousands  of  readers. 
Cy  Whittaker  is  the  David  Harum  of  Cape  Cod. 

"  There  isn't  a  dull  page  in  it  all.  .  .  .  The  story  is  a  very  attractive  one, 
and  has  the  marks  of  a  book  that  will  have  a  permanence  far  beyond  the  ordi- 
nary."— New  Haven  Register, 

Our  Village 

Illustrated  with  4  half-tone  and  35  line  drawings. 
Ornamental  cover  in  cream  and  gold.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  gilt  top,  uncut  edges,  $1.50  net. 

The  minute  fidelity  to  life  and  character  of  this  story  of  life  "on 
Cape  Cod  thirty  years  ago  is  as  remarkable  as  it  is  delightful.  A  man 
needs  the  quality  of  a  Maupassant  to  draw  life  so  absolutely  as  it  is, 
but  happily  he  does  not,  when  writing  of  our  quaint  New  England 
folk,  find  the  sordid  hopelessness  that  discounts  for  many  readers  the 
art  of  the  great  French  master.  If  you  were  ever  at  a  school  picnic 
or  a  clambake,  or  lived  in  a  country  village — and  enjoyed  it — you  will 
make  a  mistake  if  you  do  not  recall  those  good  times  in  the  most  vivid 
possible  way  by  reading  this  book. 

"Anyone  who  has  read  any  of  Lincoln's  stories  will  need  no  urging  to 
take  up  this  book.  He  is  one  of  the  best  hOmorous  writers  of  the  day,  and 
Cy  Whittaker  and  the  other  characters  in  his  latest  novel  are  as  good  as  any- 
thing Mark  Twain  ever  created." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


IV 


R.:0  0  lO-URl 


DDi   0CTUiqR4 
OCl  Z  3  1984 


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